


The Prisoner

by NerysDax



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-06-23
Updated: 2014-06-16
Packaged: 2017-11-08 09:57:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 119,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/441964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NerysDax/pseuds/NerysDax
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Imprisoned, Lord Voldemort is considered a threat of the past. His knowledge is desired by many. Yet, his offer is for one person only: Hermione Weasley-Granger.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <a href="http://s1235.photobucket.com/albums/ff438/daxodokira/?action=view&current=ThePrisonercopy-1.jpg"></a>
  <img/></p>
<p>Banner by the wonderful Ms Velvela.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Meeting

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros. Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
> 
> **A/N:** Canon compliant for the exception of that infamous last bit of DH (EWE?). This story starts four years after the final battle in DH.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Banner by the wonderful Ms Velvela.

**The Prisoner**  
  
 **Chapter 1: The Meeting**  
  
‘Department of Mysteries, Level A,’ a cool female voice spoke, and the grills opened.  
  
Her black robes trailed behind her petite frame as she stepped out of the lift and paced through the lone, dark corridor. Candles lit briefly as she passed by, lighting only the immediate area she was in. It was seemingly empty to the unobservant eye, but as she proceeded, she felt the magic swirl around her. Her body gave off a red sheen for a second. Yet she ignored the identifying wards and stalked on in a movement that would have given Severus Snape a run for his money.  
  
Unspeakable Hermione Jean Weasley-Granger was beyond pissed.  
  
She had been right smack in the middle of performing an experiment on the veil with the Resurrection Stone when her boss, the illustrious Katie McGregor, found it necessary to summon her. Why the blasted woman couldn’t wait for the two measly hours it would take her to finish was a mystery to Hermione. What wasn’t a mystery was that she now had to wait two more years before being able to redo her experiment as the veil was a well-loved subject of investigation and many magical researchers from all over the world wanted time with the archway. There were three more known veils, but they appeared and disappeared at random intervals in random places. The UK had the only one which was fixed in time and space. So, naturally, there was a huge waiting list if you wanted to study the phenomenon in some shape or form.  
  
Growling in frustration, Hermione halted in front of the dark wooden door. A gold-plated nametag stated, “K. McGregor, Head of the Unspeakable Office.”  
  
 _Soon to be deceased_ , Hermione added vengefully in her mind, while she lifted her fist and rammed on the door violently.  
  
She closed her eyes to protect them from the bright yellow glow that followed. A low noise hummed around her, until she heard an unlocking click followed by a cheerful: ‘Enter!’  
  
Opening her eyes, Hermione swirled into the office. Ready to start ranting, she opened her mouth.  
  
‘Tom Marvolo Riddle,’ Katie McGregor said quickly, holding up her hand.  
  
Shocked, Hermione closed her mouth with an audible pop and stared at her boss’s grave expression.  
  
‘He has escaped from Azkaban,’ Hermione deduced immediately, while inwardly cursing every idiot who’d thought they could contain him.  
  
It hadn’t been her choice that day. She still remembered it vividly. The afternoon after the final battle, the Aurors had a fit upon finding an unconscious young man instead of the snakelike individual they were expecting when they came to collect Lord Voldemort’s body. They had raised the alarm, thinking the Dark Lord had eluded death,  _again,_ and was on the run. But Harry identified the young man’s body as being him. Nobody really understood what had happened and how he’d survived that rebound curse,  _again,_  but the biggest issue became what to do with him.

Despite the mayhem and loss of lives Lord Voldemort had been responsible for, somehow, his younger version had still been able to turn the country utterly divided on his fate with his smooth and elaborate lies. She’d been the one to prick through them and forced him to show his true colours. Still, it hadn’t led to what Hermione had hoped for: two little words and a nicely filled hole in the ground. No, they’d had to be above such brutalities and designed a special isolation cell specifically for him, which he obviously, now, had broken out of.  
  
‘No, no,’ McGregor denied, shaking her head, ‘no, he is still very much incarcerated in Azkaban, and he will remain there for the rest of his life.’  
  
‘Then, what am I doing here?’ asked Hermione, exasperated. ‘It took me ages to find the right set up for my experiment and–’  
  
‘He only wants to talk to you,’ Katie interrupted.  
  
‘Uh?’ she said, dumbfounded.  
  
‘You know we recently have begun sending Unspeakables back to him?’  
  
‘Yes,’ Hermione said, sighing since she had disagreed with that decision, too.  
  
In Riddle’s first year of imprisonment, Healer Cutler had made a disastrous endeavour to research the inner workings of the mind of Lord Voldemort. Cutler and three of his students had been talking to Riddle for months, until suddenly, they started committing suicide one after the other. They had been able to stop the last person from hanging himself, but he had to be committed to the permanent ward of St. Mungo’s. The investigation of the incidents had not revealed the precise answer as to how Riddle had accomplished to turn four people that desperate and mentally unstable. From Cutler’s notes, it was clear that Riddle had done very little talking about himself and had mostly listened and reacted to his visitors’ comments. After that, any and all research involving Lord Voldemort had been suspended indefinitely, until now.  
  
‘Unspeakable Moore has been there three times now, and he claims Riddle is willing to share the theory behind the magical enhancements he created in the past.’  
  
‘Sure,’ Hermione muttered disbelievingly.  _Lord Voldemort and sharing: That’ll be the day._ ‘And the catch is …?’  
  
‘He wants you instead of Moore.’  
  
‘And why not give him everything he wants,’ Hermione replied, rolling her eyes.  
  
‘Hermione, the things he was capable of doing. We could–’  
  
‘I remember very well what he was capable of, Katie. It’s not something to strive at.’  
  
‘I am not referring to the Dark Arts or the killings. You know just as well as anyone else he was capable of extraordinary magic. It would be a waste if all that knowledge dies with him. I can understand your misgivings,’ Katie added, holding up her hand to prevent the obvious arguments Hermione was about to send her way, ‘and if you think you can’t handle it, you won’t have to continue the meetings. But at least, give it a go once. See how it goes, if not for our sake, then for the Longbottoms’. According to Malfoy,  ** _he_**  knows how to undo brain damage from the Cruciatus Curse. We can’t just ignore the possibility of a cure being–’  
  
‘All right, all right,’ Hermione said, throwing her hands in the air in surrender, ‘I’ll go. But I am telling you right now: This is a waste of our time. He will have an ulterior motive for all this. Lord Voldemort does not share anything without getting something out of it.’  
  
‘Well, as long as he shares, I really don’t care about his motives or what his delusional mind thinks he’s getting out of it,’ Katie said bluntly. ‘Your transportation to Azkaban is standing by at the back entrance.’  
  
‘Your concern for my safety is touching,’ Hermione said dryly.  
  
‘Try not to kill him this time, Hermione. At least not  _before_  you get all the answers,’ Katie replied with a smirk, dismissing her by opening another file on her desk.  
  
Hermione blinked; shock the primary emotion on her face at what could be conceived as a warning or … a threat. You didn’t become the head of this department if you were squeaky clean. A sudden chill ran over her back, but her boss no longer acknowledged her presence, and Hermione quickly rushed out the door. She thought no one knew – no one suspected her. No one but  _him_.

xxx

  
The wind howled around the stone building. Through the barred windows of the entrance hall, Hermione saw the white foam of the high waves smashing against the dark rocks of the island. She shivered. Azkaban truly was an inhospitable place, even without the Dementors.  
  
‘Your wand, please,’ the guard behind the counter requested kindly, watching the famous friend of Harry Potter with interest.  
  
Hermione didn’t like giving up her wand, especially not considering the prisoner she was about to meet face-to-face. No, she definitely preferred to keep it in her hand and pointed in advance. One needed a head-start with him. The look on her face must have given away the apprehension she felt because, as she handed over her wand, the guard said reassuringly:

‘He can’t use magic in his cell. The wards are specially designed to halt all his powers, and he doesn’t have a wand.’  
  
‘I know,’ Hermione replied.  
  
Before coming here, she had made a thorough study of everything that had been done to keep Tom Marvolo Riddle inside. It was quite extensive. The wards targeted his magic to the degree that he wouldn’t even be able to do wandless magic. They, in effect, had turned the Dark Lord into a Muggle, and only him, since those wards were personalised specifically to his magic only. Some people complained it was over the top and a waste of good resources and funding. His imprisonment was a huge drain on the Azkaban budget. Hermione had agreed with that. Two little words were far cheaper, and they would make her feel much more secure, too.  
  
‘I’d stay out of his cell though,’ the guard said, eyeing her petite form up and down concerned. ‘Even though he’s never attacked anyone of us and has always been nothing but pleasant, I don’t know how he’ll react to your presence, considering you’re …’ the guard trailed off, shuffling uncomfortable on his feet before continuing quickly in a businesslike tone of voice. ‘He’s a lot taller than you, and the wards are so heavy that we can’t observe through them. You will be completely on your own down there.’  
  
‘Perfect,’ Hermione muttered darkly.  
  
‘You’ll be fine. If you stay in the corridor, he can’t reach you. Just communicate with him through the window. Remember: As long as the switch is in the off position, he can’t see or hear anything that goes on in the corridor.’  
  
‘I’ve read the file in the ministry,’ Hermione replied, nodding.  
  
‘Okay. Do you have questions about any of it?’ the guard asked.  
  
She shook her head.  
  
‘Well, good luck then, Mrs. Weasley,’ he said, waving his wand at the doorway and allowing her to pass.  
  
It took her a moment to realise she didn’t have to turn her head to wonder why Ron’s mum was here. Even though Hermione and Ron had been married for three years now, she’d still not got used to people calling her Mrs. Weasley. It had more than once led to confusing or embarrassing situations when she’d just ignore someone calling out for her.  
  
‘Thank you,’ Hermione said politely and began descending the stairs.  
  
It was a long walk down. She had to make several stops in between to catch her breath since she’d never been keen on exercise and wasn’t an athlete by any standard. As she descended farther and farther, the magic of different wards swirled around her, seeking confirmation to whether or not she was allowed to be in this staircase. It felt like the journey to the centre of the earth.  
  
Perhaps the journey to hell itself was more appropriate since she was about to meet the devil, Hermione considered darkly as she finally reached the bottom of the staircase.  
  
Another sheen of red light engulfed her body briefly and the door, for which she’d halted, opened with a click. She entered the small corridor tentatively, jumping somewhat when the door slammed shut behind her with a final “bang”. Locks audibly fell back in place, and she just stood there, wondering why on earth she was here in the first place. The door completely sealed off the last reminiscence of daylight behind her, and for a second, she was emerged in darkness. Then, torches flared on. Relieved, Hermione sighed and walked on, passing ward after ward after ward, until finally, she reached the door that would lead to the corridor which circled Lord Voldemort’s prison. Taking a deep breath to steady her nerves, she grabbed the wooden doorknob and turned it. She had to put some muscle work into opening it since the door was heavy and slightly clenched to the rough wood of the door frame. An eerie creaking noise accompanied the movement as if she entered a haunted house.  
  
 _Someone should oil the hinges_ , Hermione thought, irritated about her apprehension and the crazy things entering her mind, while pulling the hardwood door close behind her and sustaining a splinter in her finger in the process. She wriggled it out with her nails and sucked the drop of blood away, now fully cursing her presence in this inhospitable environment.  
  
When she looked up, she gasped, because the contrast couldn’t be more immense. Her eyes watched her new environment with a frown. Black, rusty brackets spread a dim light across the circular corridor she stood in. The walls those brackets hung on were rough, made of big, blunt, and uneven rocks. Yet, the walls around Riddle’s cell were smooth and even, made of some kind of metal: aluminium, iron or perhaps steel?  
  
She walked forward and slid her hands over the door that led into his cell. It was cold, harsh, smooth, unmoving, and relentless.  
  
 _Like him._  
  
Steel, she was betting it was some kind of hardened steel. Her eyes fell on the switch next to the door, but she wasn’t ready to flip it yet. She first wanted to get familiar with her environment, with seeing him, before she exposed herself in a place that had become his home for the last four years.  
  
Slowly, she took a couple of steps towards the biggest light source in the corridor: The place where the window to his cell was located. The glass was as thick as the metal walls and it reached from floor to bottom. When she stepped into that beam of light, she had to blink several times before her eyes were adjusted to its tremendous brightness. The moment her eyes had accustomed to this overly white light, she turned slightly pale. If someone were to hiss “Clarice” to her from within that cell, it would be all too fitting.  
  
Merlin, this – her being here – this was just stupid, insane, madness. It didn’t help that she recalled perfectly how that book had ended.  
  
Dr. Hannibal Lecter, the serial killer, escaped.  
  
She ignored the cold shiver that travelled up and down her spine and studied Riddle’s accommodations. The cell was incredibly bare. It had a stainless steel bed (obviously bolted to the ground) with a thin mattress and white bedding. There was a small, rectangular, white, plastic table, standing alongside the bed. Next to the bed was an open cupboard situated directly in the wall that held the bare minimum of clothing on its metal shelves. On the wall opposite from the bed was a water fountain accompanied by a mirror and a shelf on which several personal hygiene attributes were placed: a toothbrush and paste, a comb, a bar of soap, and a shaving kit. Next to it was the toilet all out in the open with no privacy whatsoever. Not that she cared. It was a paradise compared to how he’d kept any of his prisoners.  
  
Hermione folded her arms defensively in front of her chest, and for the first time, she looked at the reason this cell was created: Tom Marvolo Riddle. He languorously half-sat, half-lay on his bed, leaning with his back against a pillow pressed to the wall. His hands were folded behind his head, while his long legs rested with crossed ankles on the otherwise empty table. His pitch-black locks fell into his face, making his complexion seem even paler; but he didn’t make the ungroomed impression she’d been expecting with Sirius Black in mind. It was actually quite disconcerting to her how utterly composed Riddle was. He was well-shaven, and above all, appeared immaculately clean. He wore a pristine white shirt and black trousers which seemed pressed and made his pale feet stick out. The only thing not done to perfection was his hair. It was longer than most men wore it, though not as long as Ron’s, and it was cut haphazardly. Yet, the messy, clearly unprofessional haircut suited him. It made him come to life and seem less mannequin-like. She stood there for a while, watching him stare into thin air, unaware she was there. She couldn’t help but wonder what that impressive mind of his was going over right now.  
  
 _Probably contemplating on whom to strangle first **when**  he escaped_, she figured gloomily.  
  
There was no doubt in her mind Lord Voldemort wouldn’t consider it an “if”. Even though in the more than four years that he’d been in this facility he’d not once set a toe over the threshold, his large ego wouldn’t consider the possibility of failure. It was only a matter of time. What was worse, she agreed with him on that. It was why she’d preferred a more final solution.  
  
Something else they had in common. They both preferred their enemies to be dead and buried.

The thought briefly crossed her mind, though she didn’t allow herself to dwell on it. She’d bigger problems to deal with. She had to focus on the more pressing dilemma of when to reveal her presence here to Riddle. She knew that until she hit the switch, he couldn’t see or hear what went on behind the window. And even then, she was perfectly safe inside this corridor. He couldn’t reach her here. The wards allowed everyone but him to enter or exit the cell. She knew this.  
  
So, why couldn’t she shake that damn apprehension she felt?  
  
Hermione shivered. The environment she was in and his relaxed demeanour gave her goosebumps. She felt chilled to the bone already and a bit nauseous. What was she doing here? She’d been crazy to agree to this. She should’ve just told her boss to stick her orders in a very dark place, no matter if McGregor knew about her botched up assassination attempts at the ministry. She doubted Katie could prove it anyway. Hermione had not been so sloppy to leave evidence of her presence behind. The only thing Katie was likely to have were suspicions and maybe, just maybe, Riddle’s testimony.  
  
But she doubted the latter. She still recalled his silent appraisal at her actions – the way he’d coldly and distantly observed her moves as if it had no bearing on his person. His dark gaze had haunted her dreams for months after that. It had been too bad those godforsaken Aurors had found him on time; just one minute longer and he’d been done for – never to resurrect ever again. That day Hermione had come to the conclusion that life was beyond unfair. It truly and utterly sucked.  
  
She shook her head to clear it of the bad memories. It was best to get this over and done with, the sooner she could leave this nasty place with its despicable, rotten-to-the-core company. This was a pointless endeavour anyway. Certain of that, she paced to the switch and flipped it on. Pacing back to the window and folding her arms over each other protectively as she halted in front of it, she glared at the bane of her existence.  
  
He didn’t move nor acknowledged her presence. He just kept staring ahead as if she weren’t even there. After a while, it began to annoy her severely. She wasn’t feeling a hundred percent well, and she was only here because Mr. High-And-Mighty requested it. The least he could do was open his bloody mouth. This had not been her idea.  
  
‘Riddle,’ Hermione finally said with an edge of irritated impatience.  
  
Her stomach acid churned, and she swallowed, trying to keep it down. Was she coming down with a flu of some kind?  
  
Terrific, her timing was as impeccable as always.  
  
Slowly, he turned his head in her direction at her mentioning his last name. At first their eyes locked, but then, his gaze wandered down. He studied her demeanour and body meticulously. Heat made it to her face as she felt positively naked underneath that intense stare. Finally, his pupils bore into hers again and the beginning of a staring match unlike she’d ever encountered before started. She had to remind herself all his magic (including his Legilimency skills) was suppressed and he most likely tried to unnerve her with his actions.  
  
Unfortunately, she had to admit he was succeeding. She rubbed her hands over her upper arms in a comforting gesture and averted her eyes. She felt incredibly vulnerable. Being here, without a wand, had to be the stupidest thing she had ever done. Slowly, she caressed her forehead, closing her eyes for a moment. Her head pounded in her skull, and she realised she felt more than a little sick. As soon as she got home, she’d take some Pepper-Up Potion to get rid of these flu-like symptoms.  
  
‘Aren’t you going to say anything?’ Hermione asked hoarsely, focusing back on him.  
  
She told herself again that she was safe in the corridor. He was locked in. She had to keep a realistic perspective on her situation and not let irrelevant matters influence her emotions.  
  
The only answer she got from him wasn’t coming out of his mouth. Instead, his eyes roamed over her body once again. His brow furrowed briefly as if he saw something off, then, his impassive mask returned firmly in place.  
  
Annoyed, Hermione placed her hands in her sides, swallowing down some bile that rose in her throat. ‘Look. This wasn’t my idea. You asked for me.’  
  
‘Why don’t you come in?’ he suggested in a warm, gentle voice. On his face erupted a charming smile as he made a welcoming gesture to the door of his cell, still sitting cross-legged on the bed. ‘It will make our talk so much easier.’  
  
It was utterly shocking to Hermione how much the little change in demeanour made him seem kind, nice, and warm: the perfect gentleman – “seem” being the key word in that sentence. If she hadn’t known him, his act would’ve fooled her. However, she knew perfectly well whom she was dealing with, and she wasn’t falling for it.  
  
‘Think again,’ she said bluntly.  
  
He tilted his head and smirked, his eyes glinting in dark amusement. ‘Afraid, Hermione?’  
  
‘We are not on a first name basis.’  
  
‘Very well,’ he replied blankly, shrugging. ‘Afraid, Granger?’  
  
‘I’m not stupid.’  
  
‘That’s not a denial.’  
  
‘No, it isn’t.’  
  
‘Honest,’ he whispered, seemingly more to himself than her since his eyes were downcast contemplatively. Yet, he looked straight at her when the next sentence left his lips. ‘However, I think you’ll find that you’ll feel better inside.’  
  
‘I am not here to play your games,’ Hermione said coolly. ‘You told Moore you wanted to talk to me, so talk. I’m perfectly fine with taking down notes out here.’  
  
She ruffled through her jacket’s pocket and pulled out a notebook and pen. She’d cast the same charm she’d used on her beaded bag on the jacket to avoid having to drag said bag along everywhere she went. Swiftly, she opened her notebook and clicked at the end of her pen demonstratively. She’d returned to Muggle writing gear after leaving Hogwarts. It was so much sturdier and easier to use. She was sorry she’d been unable to bring a laptop into this facility, but the wards would’ve interfered with the technology. Looking up from the blank piece of paper, she watched Riddle expectantly, certain that this would annoy him thoroughly.  
  
‘You should leave, Granger,’ he said abruptly, turning his attention away from her.  
  
 _And the games had begun. Surprise, surprise._  
  
Hermione snorted.  
  
Well, leaving was fine with her. She snapped her notebook shut and took a step in the direction of the door to get the hell out of there when Riddle’s voice halted her.  
  
‘I’d be more than happy to tell you about curing Cruciatus damage …’  
  
Angry, her head flashed sideways. For a moment, the world blurred, swirling around her. Several drops of perspiration erupted on her forehead, and she wiped them away absentmindedly.  
  
‘But …?’ she snapped in response.  
  
‘I doubt you’ll make it to the end of my explanation, Granger,’ he said softly, uncrossing his legs and rising to his feet in one sinuous movement.  
  
Was that a jab at her intelligence?  
  
Exasperated, Hermione’s fingers clutched around the notebook and her pen. Right now, she felt like stabbing him in his eye with one and hitting him over the head with the other. Hard and repeatedly.  
  
‘What is your problem?’ she hissed, stepping closer to the window.  
  
Another wave of dizziness overcame her. Her pen crashed to the concrete floor as she steadied herself against the smooth surface with her palm. The glass in front of her bulged. Was it breaking?  
  
Stumbling back in panic, she fell on her behind. The floor moved underneath her like the waves of an ocean: higher and higher. The walls spun. Everything spun. Her nausea rose to unbelievable heights. More and more bile rose in her throat. She desperately tried to keep it down. Yet, it was too late. She couldn’t hold it in anymore. Quickly turning to her hands and knees, she emptied her stomach until she dry heaved so violently it felt like her head exploded. She had to get out of here and get help. Fast. She was in big trouble.  
  
Now, she finally recognised the symptoms. Her body was reacting to the stupid, personalised-only-to- _him-_ her-arse Magical Impairment Wards. Whoever created this ward was in for a rough ride when she got her hands on them, but she had to leave this corridor first and get away from this damn ward in this blasted circular corridor – preferably before she lost consciousness.  
  
Oh Merlin, there were a zillion steps on those stairs.  
  
 _Where is my stuff?_  
  
Dazed, she patted the rippling floor with her hand and caught her notebook. Pocketing it, she searched for her pen.  
  
‘Get out of there, Granger,’ Riddle ordered.  
  
There was an edge of concern in his voice, and if she’d not been afraid her skull would crack open from the movement, she would’ve laughed exuberantly at his pathetic attempt to fool her. A shadow fell over her body when he moved, indicating he had to stand right in front of the window now. But she really could care less where he was. Her whereabouts were the issue at the moment, and his suggestion about getting out of there sounded like an excellent idea to her.  
  
Yet, she hadn’t found her pen.  
  
The waves must have made it roll away. Turning around and around on her hands and knees, she searched, trying to avoid inhaling the sour scent of her vomit or sticking her fingers in it accidentally.  
  
‘Just leave the damn pen.’  
  
Merlin, where was it? She couldn’t leave it here. What if that had been his ploy all along? No, she had to find her pen. Why couldn’t she see straight?  
  
‘The stupid pen is on your left,’ Riddle said, exasperated.  
  
 _Really?_  
  
Her right hand reached around. She didn’t find it there. Liar.  
  
‘Your other left.’  
  
 _Oh._  
  
Immediately, her left hand’s fingertips touched something that felt like her pen as she patted around there.  
  
‘Aha! Found it,’ she exclaimed, raising her head triumphantly and regretting that move next when the world closed in on her.  
  
All her muscles tensed. Pressing her eyelids together, she tried to ignore the way everything was contorting around her. Taking a deep breath, she focused on the task of moving and getting out.  
  
Where was the exit? She couldn’t distinguish anything anymore. Everything was dancing. Perhaps if she followed the wall …?  
  
Yes, yes, then, she would eventually get to the door.  
  
She crawled to the side until she hit the wall with her head.  _Ouch._  
  
Clumsily, she rose and leaned against the cold, smooth surface with her aching head. That felt so nice. Too bad the wall billowed and seemed unsteady. Somewhere in the back of her clouded mind, alarm bells went off; but she couldn’t focus enough to concentrate on them. She had to leave.  
  
Carefully, she took a step. When that didn’t turn into a disaster, she took another one, and another one. She had to make it. If she just kept going, this would be over. If she could just get to the other side of that blasted door, her symptoms would subside.  
  
Hermione continued walking by sheer willpower. Her hand trailed the even surface, searching for that one doorknob that would free her from these experiences. She almost missed it. Her fingertips trailed over a rim, and then, her hip slammed into a doorknob as she took another step. Relief flooded through her. It was almost over. She would feel better soon. Grabbing the cold, iron doorknob with a trembling hand, she turned it quickly and pressed hard, recalling how it had clenched in its frame.  
  
The door gave way immediately.  
  
Not able to retain her footing, she fell inside. White bright light stabbed into her eyes like sharp knives. A warning rippled through her mind right before she hit the floor and passed out fully.

xxx

 


	2. The Prisoner's Captive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With thanks to my betas: Serpent In Red and Cosettex.
> 
> Banner by our GC Tomione Queen.

**The Prisoner**  
  
[](http://s1235.photobucket.com/albums/ff438/daxodokira/?action=view&current=1ThePrisoner.jpg)  
 **Chapter 2: The Prisoner’s Captive**  
  
Hermione groaned, tossing and turning under the thin bed coverings, which smelled incredibly desirable to her. She didn’t want to wake up. She’d had a terrible, ridiculous nightmare, and she just wanted to fall asleep again, so she could replace it with a sane dream.  
  
As if dreams were ever sane.  
  
Sighing, her fingers gripped her sheets along with the blanket and pulled them over her nose. Merlin, that scent was to die for. Had Ron got a new cologne? If so, she’d make sure he’d never buy another brand again. Delicious.  
  
Eyes still closed, Hermione swung her arm behind her, searching for her husband but hitting her knuckles on a wall instead. Swearing loudly, her eyes flashed open only to be closed and immediately covered by the sheets. What was with that blinding light?  
  
‘Hit those damn lights will you?’ she grumbled, rolling to her belly and burying her head in the mattress. ‘My head is killing me.’  
  
She let out another groan at the end of the sentence and wrapped her arms over her head as if that would stop the invisible man from swinging his hammer at her skull every other second.  
  
‘I’d loved to,’ a smooth male baritone replied, ‘but they are beyond my control, Granger.’  
  
She froze in her ridiculous pose. No, no, no, no, no! Impossible. It couldn’t be. She’d been dreaming. Perhaps she still was?  
  
She knew that it would be desirable to the alternative because she knew that voice – knew it better than most, having heard it in her head for months as she’d worn the locket. Her mind’s eye returned to the last thing she remembered of her “dream”: the smoothness and coldness of the door instead of rough wood, the ease with which it had opened instead of clenching to the frame, and the warning that had flashed through her mind as she’d fallen into that brightly lit environment.  
  
 _Ooooooh, crap._  
  
Quickly, she flipped over to her side and moved to a seated position. Then, just as abruptly, she crashed down on the bed again. The world was dancing, spinning, twisting and turning; her arms flailed around for something to hold onto as stars in all kinds of colours erupted in her vision. Apparently, the invisible hammer had been replaced by an invisible sledgehammer now, and it was trying to split open her skull with its wedge-shaped head forcefully.  
  
‘I wouldn’t recommend moving too much or abruptly for the time being,’ that same sneaky voice said, sounding clearly amused. ‘It tends to enhance the adverse effects the wards have on your body.’  
  
From her knowledge of the wards, his suggestion sounded logical enough, so she dropped her arms on the thin mattress in resignation and lay utterly still.  
  
‘Thanks for the advanced warning,’ she sneered, pressing her eyelids firmly together and hoping it would help to clear at least the dizziness she was experiencing. The pain was so strong that she had no high hopes of it vanishing any time soon. This wasn’t happening. Fate couldn’t possibly be this cruel. She’d done nothing to deserve this. She should not, would not,  _could not_  be inside Lord Voldemort’s cell.  
  
However, his soft chuckle to her sneer told her otherwise.  
  
 _I’d stay out of his cell though. He’s a lot taller than you, and the wards are so heavy we can’t observe through them._  
  
The guard’s warning words echoed through her pounding brain as she was lying in what had to be Riddle’s bed. Oh, she so needed to shower if she got out of here alive. To think that she’d considered that scent, his scent, lovely. Ugh … her head must have hit the ground real hard.  
  
The ground! Why wasn’t she on the ground? How had she got in this bed?  
  
Oh.  
  
The earth stopped rotating for a second as she realised he had to have carried her.  
  
Eww … She shook her limbs as if to shake off the remnants of his disgusting touch. Now she really needed that shower. Yuck, yuck, yuck.  
  
However, her movements hadn’t made her headache worse or caused her nausea and dizziness to return. Carefully, she opened her eyes in order for them to adjust to the lighting in a timely fashion. It was still harsh and blazing white but a lot more bearable this time.  
  
‘Can you sit?’ Riddle asked quietly.  
  
Mmm … could she? She wasn’t sure. Her eyes flickered to her right where he sat. Her pupils dilated and she held her breath.  
  
 _Looks can be deceiving._  
  
Hermione doubted the truth of that phrase could meet its match anywhere better on the planet for Tom Riddle surely was a sight to behold. He sat on the white table with his long, black-clad legs spread out wide to accommodate for what little space there was between the table and the bed. His white, button down shirt fell loosely over his shoulders, supplying him with an air of nonchalance and accessibility. Since his shirt wasn’t buttoned up all the way to the top, Hermione found it hard to draw her eyes away from the glimpse she got of his sinewy chest. His tall frame was inclined towards her, and he’d casually rested his elbows on his knees, making his hands join together to hold a glass filled with a clear liquid. Occasionally, he rolled the glass between his long slender fingers, making the fluid swirl.  
  
As if his body wasn’t attractive enough on its own, she hadn’t even begun to comment on his perfectly sculpted face. It was as if God, or perhaps more suiting, Satan had taken extra care the day he’d created Tom Riddle, since Riddle had the most symmetric face she’d ever seen. A straight, perfectly centred nose rested above a set of full, luscious lips. His chin was clean shaven, yet she could see the first signs of stubbles planning to return by the slight darkening of the skin across his square jaw. Black eyebrows formed a perfect arc. And those eyes underneath … the intensity … the darkness … it was entrancing. Captivating. Enthralling.  
  
Slowly, he tilted his head, making his black locks fall playfully across his face. The corner of his mouth twitched up and a devious glint passed through his eyes.  
  
‘Anybody home, Granger?’ he asked mockingly.  
  
That snapped her out of it. Her cheeks burned almost painfully in embarrassment as she was caught staring at – at … well …  _him_.  
  
Ugh.  
  
She scowled when she witnessed the delight in his expression.  
  
‘Don’t worry,’ he said. His mouth formed a smug smirk as he leaned closer to her and whispered huskily, ‘you’re not the first woman to be entranced by me. I’m quite used to it.’  
  
Mortified, Hermione felt her entire face flush red, while he leaned back utterly composed and at ease, rolling the glass sensually between his fingers again. And she didn’t just attribute that word to something he did. Merlin, why couldn’t this bed just swallow her whole?  
  
‘So, can you sit?’ he continued relentlessly. ‘Or do you prefer to stare a bit longer?’ He gestured at his body teasingly.  
  
Her eyes narrowed, causing him to chuckle lightly. With an irritated growl, Hermione turned her head away from him and placed her hands on the mattress.  
  
‘Not too fast,’ Riddle ordered seriously.  
  
She froze, gritting her teeth. Then, she turned her head and icily hissed, ‘Don’t  **you**  tell me what to do, Riddle.’  
  
He shrugged. ‘It’s not my head that’s hurting. By all means, jump up and see how you like it.’  
  
Her fingers curled into fists in the sheets as her temper rose. He was pushing her buttons and she knew it. Yet, it was so damn hard to ignore his manipulations. Cautiously, she pushed herself to a seated position, holding still when white circles blurred her vision. It was over soon, and she was glad she’d risen carefully; though that was not something she was going to share with her current company. Placing the pillow against the wall, she rested her back against it and sighed.  
  
The glass with the clear liquid in it was held out towards her. Turning her head, she arched an eyebrow.  
  
‘It’s water.’  
  
‘Yeah, right,’ she said suspiciously.  
  
‘With a bit of saline,’ he admitted, an amused glint flickering through his gaze. ‘It helps surprisingly well against that headache and the visual impairments you’re experiencing.’  
  
Realising that an isotonic fluid was indeed something that logically would be of assistance, she reluctantly accepted the glass and just held it in her hand, not feeling like taking a sip since she somehow distrusted the contents now even more than before he’d admitted to adding something to the water.  
  
‘Afraid I poisoned it with my huge supply of ingredients?’ he asked, waving his hand around his empty cell mockingly.  
  
She knew she was being silly, but it was so ingrained in her mind. Constant vigilance!  
  
‘Perhaps you spit in it. Your saliva should be poisonous enough,’ she sneered, right before taking a sip.  
  
His sniggering accompanied her screwed up expression since salt water isn’t the most pleasant of substances to drink.  
  
‘Eww … yuck.’  
  
She shivered in disgust. However, she did notice some improvement, so she brought the glass to her lips again, only to stop when she realised he was observing her a tad too keenly.  
  
‘What?’  
  
‘Just waiting for the first symptoms of my lethal venom to show,’ he joked.  
  
‘Comedian.’  
  
This time, she didn’t sip at the water but quickly downed the entire glass. It was still disgusting, and she shook her whole body in reaction, while her facial muscles contracted all at once. But when she took a deep breath and settled down, her headache was slowly disappearing into the background. She felt a hell of a lot better, a lot better than just a bit of isotonic fluid should’ve made her feel.  
  
Now that she could think straight again, the whole direness of her situation became abundantly clear to her. She was sitting on Lord Voldemort’s bed in Lord Voldemort’s cell, and said Lord was positioned conveniently between her and the only exit out of this room. Her eyes flickered around nervously. She doubted she could even make it to a standing position before he would act. He had her cornered pretty damn good. She had to somehow distract him. She recalled how much he loved to chat on and on and on during the final battle, so … conversation it was.  
  
‘How come just a bit of salt water is so helpful? My headache is almost completely gone.’  
  
He considered her briefly before taking the glass from her hand and placing it beside him on the table.  
  
‘Why do you think it helps?’  
  
‘Well, I vomited, so … But it’s just one glass.’ She frowned in doubt.  
  
‘You’re thinking biologically when you should be thinking magically.’  
  
Her brow furrowed further.  _Magically? But this cell was created to stop magic._  
  
‘Oh!’ Her face lit up at finding the solution, and she jumped to the edge of the bed, flinging her legs over the side besides his. Excited, she looked sideways. ‘This chamber has to have healing properties; otherwise, you’d be sick all day long. And water is one of the four elements of the Quintessence of Matter and together with salt it combines with the other elements faster, so it would enhance the healing by functioning as a catalyst.’  
  
‘Exactly,’ Riddle said, sounding satisfied.  
  
Her eyes darted briefly to the door. She had to run around the table still, but if she was fast enough and he was suitably distracted, she might make it.  
  
‘Those wards are supposed to only react to you,’ she said darkly, slightly peeved at its creator.  
  
A snort left his sinuous lips.  
  
‘Yes, that’s the general misconception.’ He sniggered. ‘They react to the amount of magical power present. The more they perceive, the harder and more immediate the wards strike. But in essence, everyone who enters that corridor is subjugated to them, and eventually,  **everyone** ’ –for a moment a satisfied, devilish expression flashed over his face at what she assumed was a memory– ‘will feel their effects.’ His eyes flickered over Hermione’s body. ‘I was wondering how long it would take you to get ill,’ he said, tilting his head contemplatively at her. ‘Faster than expected.’  
  
Riddle smirked and bowed his head, observing absentmindedly how his fingertips pressed against each other.  
  
Abruptly, Hermione flew to her feet and ran. From the corner of her eye, she saw his head swivel up in surprise. Yet, he wasn’t moving, wasn’t coming after her. She had the doorknob in her hand and pulled it open when he quietly said, ‘Granger.’  
  
It was the utter calmness in his voice that made her do it. With one hand on the door and the other on the doorframe, she stopped and turned her head towards Tom Riddle questioningly.  
  
His upper body was angled to face her, as he leaned with one hand on the table for support and gestured to her left with his other arm. He clearly had no intention to try and stop her.  
  
‘Your jacket.’  
  
Hermione blinked, taking in the blank expression on his face, his immobile stance, and the distance between them, before she checked on her left. There, on a hanger on the wall, hung her jacket. With a rapid arm movement, she snatched it and ran, not looking back when she heard the door of Voldemort’s cell slam shut behind her as she yanked open the hardwood door to get away from those Magical Impairment Wards fast.

xxx

  
Tom Riddle rose from the table and settled himself on the bed lazily. With a broad, smug smile on his face, he glanced at his hand. In between his fingers, he twirled her ballpoint around and around and around.  
  
‘I’ll be seeing you again soon, Hermione Granger. Real soon.’

xxx

  
Hermione kicked off her shoes and dumped her jacket on the nearest hanger when she arrived home. Their little, one bedroom flat was cosy, though as Molly reminded them all the time not really suitable for starting a family. Well, she’d deal with that when it became necessary, not sooner. She and Ron had been trying for a while now, but so far nothing. And she liked the flat; it was close to her and Ron’s place of employment, and it didn’t need a lot of work to keep clean. As long as she wasn’t pregnant, she didn’t see the point in looking for a bigger house. It wouldn’t pop out immediately anyway. She’d have nine months to find something else. It was more than enough time.  
  
With a sigh, she plumped into the easy chair. What a completely waste of time had this day turned out to be. She combed through her hair with her fingers and stared ahead. She could’ve been halfway through her experiment with the veil now. But noooo, Lord Voldemort had once again interrupted her schedule, as he’d done throughout all of her school years.  
  
And for what?  
  
Not a thing.  
  
Even incarcerated that damn wizard remained a huge pain in the arse. Ugh.  
  
She’d tell Katie tomorrow it had been a useless trip. Or perhaps she could take tomorrow off since her experiment needed two consecutive days to gain completion? Mmm … if she really wanted a free day, she supposed she had to write her report now and owl it to Katie. My, she was so going to need coffee if she were to write it all down.  
  
Somewhat reluctantly, she rose from the chair and flicked her wand at her kitchen. Coffee beans flew from the pot and clattered into the coffeemaker. It began grinding the beans immediately and the water inside started to heat up as she walked back to her jacket. Ruffling through its pocket, she pulled out her notebook and a pen and dumped them on their tiny kitchen table. Pouring her coffee with extra cream in a large mug, she seated herself with her hands wrapped around the steaming mug.  
  
 _There was nothing good coffee couldn’t cure_ , she thought, sipping satisfied.  
  
Placing the mug on the table and grabbing her pen instead, she considered what she was going to write as she flipped open the notebook: the supposedly empty notebook since she hadn’t used it yet. Her eyes widened when an unfamiliar, neatly cursive script occupied the pages. Lowering her pen, she quickly flipped through the pages. He’d filled more than one. She counted eleven pages. Stunned, she went to page one and started reading. By the time she reached the last of his notes, her coffee had turned cold. Hermione flew to her feet, grabbed everything she needed and rushed to the door. It was already opening when her husband came in, surprised to see her already.  
  
‘Hermione, you’re home ear–’  
  
Her lips pecked his cheek in passing.  
  
‘Don’t wait up for me,’ she said hurriedly, quickly followed by her Apparition crack.

xxx

  
‘This is incomplete,’ Katie McGregor said, watching Hermione over her glasses.  
  
‘Yeah, yeah, but don’t you see it?’ Hermione replied, waving away the objections in excitement. ‘It’s a whole new way of looking at logograms. They’ve always been sort of the stepchild of Ancient Runes. All we ever normally do is translate them to know the right quantity, structure, space, and changes that are required to activate the main rune. But according to Riddle, the logograms are an integral part of the rune. Nobody has ever considered this even once.’  
  
Hermione practically bounced on her feet in enthusiasm, not understanding why her boss wasn’t more excited. This was a huge breakthrough. If used properly, it could greatly enhance the outcome of a rune’s activation and that meant …  
  
Oh my, she had to use this theory on her experiment with the veil.  
  
That stone archway was littered with runes. Maybe that’s been why nobody had been able to activate those runes before. They’d just translated the logograms and kept it at that instead of activating the logograms as well. Oh, she couldn’t wait for her next opportunity. Too bad she had to wait two whole, bleeding years. Perhaps she could figure out some method of getting an earlier opportunity – pull the best friend of Harry Potter card?  
  
Mmm … unlike Ron, she’d never done that before, and she wasn’t particularly keen on using their friendship in such a manner. Still, if it could make her waiting period less long, then, perhaps, it was worth a try? Just this once.  
  
‘There is no direct application possible with this,’ McGregor said, leaning back in her seat disappointed. ‘Here at the end,’ she pointed to the notebook, ‘this part on Shield Charms and their effectiveness is interesting; but it’s unfinished, and therefore, rendered useless to us.’  
  
The part on Shield Charms was interesting? All it entailed was some gadget to make even the most incompetent of wizardkind capable of casting a full shield. That was something so basic and mundane, unlike the logograms theory. Now that was overhauling Ancient Runes theories all over the world.  
  
‘You need to go back,’ Katie said, shutting Hermione’s notebook and handing it back, ‘and this time get him to finish the things we can actually use.’  
  
Hermione gaped at her boss. ‘Ancient Runes has practical usage,’ she objected, placing her hands in her sides.  
  
‘Yes, but this is not what we need from him. If I want a theoretical, philosophical essay, I’ll go to Avalon Academy and speak with its professors. You make sure he understands that there is no deal if he’s trying to weasel out of it by handing me rubbish.’  
  
‘Deal? What deal?’ Hermione asked sharply.  
  
‘The Ministry is willing to remove the last part of the Wizengamot’s life-sentence for his cooperation.’  
  
‘What! That means he’ll be eligible for parole!’ Hermione shrieked aghast.  
  
‘Eligible doesn’t necessitate getting it,’ Katie replied calmly.  
  
 _Oh no … when would people stop underestimating his manipulative skills?_ Hermione felt like banging her head on her boss’s desk.  
  
‘The no parole part was added to make sure his life-sentence would be a full life-sentence and not some mockery of fifteen to thirty years.’  
  
‘No parole board will set Lord Voldemort free, Hermione. The people would rise up against them if they tried it.’  
  
‘You think?’ Hermione sneered, shaking her head over so much stupidity. ‘Give it a decade and we’ll talk again. I’ll put serious money on him walking out. If there is one thing history has shown us, it’s that people forget atrocities and only see the present. If the present is the charming, handsome Mr. Riddle handing them all kinds of useful, wonderful  _things_ , then they won’t even want to make the connection to “snake-face” and his actions anymore.’  
  
‘I’ve got it covered, Hermione. It won’t take much for my office to make sure “the people” recall exactly what it was like when he was in charge. Steering public opinion in the right direction isn’t that hard from this seat. Now, go,’ she waved to the door, ‘and make sure to get something that’s practically applicable immediately.’  
  
As the door slammed shut behind a disgruntled Hermione, Katie McGregor leaned back in her seat. She never liked it when she had to lie so explicitly to one of her operatives, but Lord Voldemort had always been excellent at spotting liars around him. The unconscious, tiny, nonverbal, bodily signals humans sent out when they lie … well, she was pretty sure he could recognise those, too.  
  
No, his inability to use Legilimency now wasn’t enough of a reassurance for her to allow Hermione to know the truth, which was that she had no intention whatsoever of keeping her end of the bargain with Lord Voldemort. No, she’d drain him dry and toss away the key afterward.  
  
 _Parole …_  McGregor snorted.  _Over my dead Mudblood body._

xxx

  
‘Back so soon?’ Riddle questioned, quirking an eyebrow in amusement at the little, bushy-haired witch who’d run into his cell in a hurry to get out of that corridor. ‘I admit I’d anticipated your return, just not on the same day.’  
  
‘What do you get out of this?’ Hermione asked sharply.  
  
His expression went blank in an instant, which was telling enough on its own. She paced to the table and tossed the notebook on it.  
  
‘You don’t do things without an objective, Riddle. Lord Voldemort does not share,’ she sneered, placing her hands in her sides. ‘Especially not something as innovating and far reaching as that Ancient Runes theory.’  
  
A smug smile erupted on his face, and he cocked his head. ‘Enjoyed reading it?’  
  
Enjoyed reading it? How could she not? She’d not read anything this innovative, interesting and stimulating in a long time. Of course she’d enjoyed reading it. What a stupid question.  
  
‘Yes, yes, I did,’ she said hurriedly, wanting to share her thoughts as fast as possible, while  gesturing excitedly with her hands to underline her words. ‘The opportunities it presents are multitude.’ She shook her head lightly in amazement. ‘Using logograms like this will undoubtedly give different results from all the translations done before, not to mention the outcome of rune spell-casting …’  
  
She halted her compliments abruptly when he eyed her utterly pleased.  
  
‘Yes,’ she sneered, crossing her arms. ‘It’s brilliant. You’re brilliant. What do you want? Applause and a deep bow to cheer on your tremendous greatness, your highness?’ she questioned mockingly.  
  
His light chuckle filled the cell.  
  
‘Well then, what’s keeping you?’ he teased as he gestured with his hand for her to do just that.  
  
Ignoring his comment, she said sarcastically, ‘Why are you … “sharing”’ –she made quotation marks in the air to indicate her high level of disbelief– ‘your  _infinite_  knowledge?’  
  
He stretched out his arms above his head, entwining his fingers between each other as he moved his hands behind the back of his head and leaned against them lazily.  
  
‘Your superior didn’t inform you about our deal?’ he asked smoothly.  
  
An askew smile erupted on Hermione’s face; her brown eyes stared at him with a peculiar, slightly murderous glint; sarcasm dripped from every inch of her expression as she softly spoke: ‘Again … what do  **you**  get out of this?’  
  
It annoyed Hermione to tears how his expression turned to one of utmost innocence and surprise, as if he had no idea what she was talking about.  
  
‘I think a chance of parole is–’  
  
Furious, she slammed her hands on the tabletop, interrupting him. She’d heard enough bullshit for one day in McGregor’s office. She didn’t need Riddle’s additions to it.  
  
‘I’d appreciate it if you didn’t take me for a simpleton,’ she hissed. ‘What. Do. You. Think. You. Can. Get. Out. Of. This?’  
  
Their eye contact intensified: dark against brown. It was silent in the cell now, a tense silence. A battle was raging. Keeping eye contact with Riddle’s dark gaze wasn’t exactly comfortable. It still felt like he could see straight through her, like he’d know every single dark secret of her past merely by focusing those intense eyes of his on her. But so help her Godric, she wasn’t backing down now. She’d walk out of that door with no intention of ever coming back if she didn’t get a satisfying answer to this.  
  
Contemplatively, Riddle tilted his head: observing, monitoring, and scrutinising her. One of his hands gestured welcomingly to his bed without him breaking eye contact.  
  
‘Have a seat, Ms Granger,’ he said knowingly.  
  
‘I asked you a question,’ she said coolly.  
  
‘And I answered it,’ he replied in a similar tone of voice.  
  
Hermione felt the blood drain from her face as his reply registered fully.  _Me? But …_  
  
‘Sit down.’ The order left his mouth as if he’d cracked a whip, and she flinched.  
  
Pissed about her flinching, she moved her hands from the tabletop and straightened out, crossing her arms in front of her chest defensively and staring at him haughtily. He was on his feet so fast she staggered back in shock. Before she even realised what the hell was happening, he’d pushed her harshly into the wall. Hermione struggled as hard as she could, but he had a stronghold on her arms and pressed his much taller body into hers, causing them to be so close that kicking him turned out to be very ineffective. She doubted he’d even have a bruise tomorrow. She hit him with her head, but it bumped off his sinewy chest like a bouncy ball and struck the metal wall behind her, causing her eyes to water in pain.  
  
When he roughly yanked her arms above her head to catch her wrists in a single-handed, vicelike grip and his free hand’s fingers curled around her neck and squeezed, she was certain she was done for. Struggling ferociously, she tried everything she could to regain her freedom, but he wasn’t giving her an inch. His lower body was moulded firmly against hers, making it impossible for her to wriggle out of his grasp – though that didn’t stop her from trying, for she was choking.  
  
Her life flashed by before her eyes. Merlin, she was only twenty-two. She didn’t want to die already. Her watery eyes met his cold, calculating gaze, beseechingly.  
  
His grip on her throat loosened a little in response, causing her to blink in confusion. A bit of air rattled past her half-closed windpipe. It wasn’t nearly enough to sustain her. Yet, his calculating expression was replaced for an expectant one as if waiting for something more. Realising what he wanted from her, Hermione stopped struggling: surrendering, submitting to him.  
  
‘Please,’ she tried to say, but the word wouldn’t quite form correctly in her throat due to his chokehold.     
  
Trembling, she waited fearfully. She’d just placed her life into the hands of a mass murderer. Not that she’d had much of a choice, but still, it wouldn’t be construed as the sanest decision she’d ever made: not trying to fight back and let it be his call whether she lived or died.  
  
Just when she thought the world would turn black around her and it would be all over, he released his grip on her neck. Her lungs desperately pulled in all the air they could get. It rattled down in short bursts, as she gasped again and again and again, her upper body bucking against him.  
  
Finally, after quite some time, her breathing turned back to normal – though, her throat still hurt, and tears streamed down her face. She was avoiding his eyes now. Hermione had never felt this powerless and weak in her life. And he hadn’t let go! His fingers still stroked over her neck, tracking the contours of what would be a visible bruise later. Her body was quivering continuously, relentlessly expressing her fear, while she felt the calmness in his muscles against her. He’d perfectly positioned himself in this stance. The ease with which he held her under control was all the more humiliating. She could damn near taste his dominion in the air, and it made her heart race oh so fast.  
  
‘Look at me, girl,’ he hissed quietly.  
  
Biting her lower lip, she swallowed a couple of times to gather the courage to meet his eyes. Yet, she couldn’t find it. She felt utterly humiliated and stupid. She couldn’t bear the thought of him looking down his nose at her right now.  
  
Fear, however, gripped her heart when she felt his fingers coil around her throat again, and she met his eyes in a flash.  
  
His face was blank, serious. There wasn’t a sign of condemnation or condescension towards her in his eyes. Strangely enough that made her feel relieved.  
  
‘Now,’ he breathed barely above a whisper, cupping her cheek to stroke the tears from her face with his thumb. ‘Let’s not do this again, shall we? It is most unpleasant for both of us if you disobey me, and I’d rather spend our time together NOT having to hurt you. So …’ he paused, considering her briefly, ‘since you cleverly realised I am not such an idiot to believe your boss’s promises, I suppose that means  **we**  should open negotiations. I believe you already know what I have to offer, so I’ll cut to the chase. You will be here every day for a minimum of one hour, during which time you can ask me whatever you want about magic-related topics and I will reply to the best of my abilities.’  
  
Hermione’s mind reeled at the opportunities and the dangers of this arrangement.  
  
‘No touching,’ she said hoarsely.  
  
‘Fair enough,’ Voldemort acknowledged, continuing to stroke the side of her face and neck gently. ‘In return for this no touching rule, you will not share the information I give you with anyone, unless they are topics I approve of. That way your boss remains happy and allows you to continue coming here.’  
  
‘No.’  
  
He quirked an eyebrow at her daring.  
  
But she shook her head to underline her disagreement. ‘No, I want a say in what I am or am not allowed to share. This way you can’t stop me from helping people I care about.’  
  
‘You can share the Cruciatus cure with the Longbottoms,’ he said tiresomely. ‘Happy now?’  
  
‘No, I can’t foresee everything I can learn from you in advance. If you can stop me from using what you teach me, then what good will it do me?’ she replied solidly.  
  
Thoughtfully, she bit her lip. Her eyes cast downward as she considered possible solutions.  
  
‘What if … what if I won’t share the information that you don’t want me to, unless I have a pressing reason to do so?’  
  
Her suggestion was met with laughter, outright boisterous laughter.  
  
‘Cunning, Granger,’ he hiccoughed briefly as he suppressed his laughter to be able to speak normally, ‘but not cunning enough. Without a clear stipulation, everything can be a pressing reason for you.’  
  
‘Ermm … not if I have to weight your interest against mine fairly and reach a decision based on that.’  
  
Her face brightened at what she honestly thought was a fair solution. However, he merely closed his eyes and leaned in towards the wall, softly hitting his forehead against it with a deep groan before mumbling something that sounded suspiciously like “Gryffindors” in her ears, as if that were a bad thing. His hair tickled her cheek with his movements; it felt nice and soft, unlike the bruising grip he still had on her wrists. He leaned back. Now he  **was**  looking down at her condescendingly. It really annoyed her since she’d meant what she’d said. She’d always been good at taking a step back and weighing every choice rationally without letting her emotions cloud her judgement. Many times in the past it had led to a decision which wasn’t always in her immediate best interest, but had benefited others.     
  
‘I wouldn’t let my own interest weigh harder just because it’s mine,’ she added seriously.  
  
‘Mmm …’ His expression turned thoughtful, as his fingers played with a stray curl of her hair. ‘I truly think you believe that. How–’  
  
He placed two fingers on her mouth when she was about to object and interrupt him.  
  
She heeded his warning and waited for his continuation silently. His fingertips drifted down, caressing the sensitive skin of her neck where he’d only minutes ago almost squeezed the life out of her. Only now his touch was titillating and gentle. It made her feel even more vulnerable than when he’d nearly choked her, because the feeling was so nice that she almost leaned into his touch and closed her eyes at the sensation.  
  
Almost.  
  
‘However,’ Voldemort continued, ‘I think my scale would be …  _balanced_  differently from yours with respects to what is deemed more valuable. Nevertheless, I do believe you’re sincere in your belief that you can reach a fair decision, and as such, I suggest a compromise.’  
  
He checked to see if he had her full attention, which was the case so he continued.  
  
‘I’ll allow you the liberty to do as you’ve suggested. However, afterwards, you will inform me fully – which means, without withholding any information whatsoever – and should I reach a different outcome from yours …’ he trailed off threateningly. His eyes darkened, making her swallow reflexively. And he leaned in until his lips brushed her earlobe, while his hand caressed the other side of her face. His voice turned even softer as he slowly added, ‘then, in that hour, you will make it up to me in whatever way I desire.’  
  
For a moment, he pressed the side of her head against his, and she couldn’t help it, she closed her eyes and let that feeling of being held oh so tightly by him wash over her. He was the prisoner but he definitely held her captive now. Strangely, she’d never felt more relaxed, more herself as in that moment.  
  
Then, he moved back. Hermione opened her eyes and met his deep dark gaze in tranquillity. She nodded silently.  
  
Their deal was sealed.

xxx


	3. Secrets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With thanks to my amazing betas: Serpent In Red and Cosettex.

**The Prisoner**  
  
 **Chapter 3: Secrets**  
  
Quietly, Hermione stood in front of her bathroom mirror that morning. Her wand in her hand pointed to the multi-coloured bruise on her neck. All it would take was a simple “Episkey” and it would be gone. Nobody would be the wiser. She’d arrived home abundantly late last night and she was up at the crack of dawn. Ron hadn’t even woken once as she entered and exited the bed. She knew she had to heal herself. If someone saw, there would be questions.  
  
Uncomfortable questions.  
  
Yet, she stood there motionless, her eyes mesmerised on the darkest spot a little above her right shoulder where his thumb had dug into her skin. So ridiculous. Why did she want to keep this reminder of his violent action towards her? Her other hand rose and she carefully stroked the bluish spots on her skin. Memories of his hand there resurfaced. She could almost feel him pressing her up against the wall again.  
  
Helpless, conquered, desired.  
  
He’d wanted her, a Mudblood. Why? It didn’t make sense.  
  
Yet, it was a heady feeling she couldn’t shake. He’d almost killed her, squeezed the life out of her so easily like it didn’t matter – like it was nothing. All in a day’s work. So powerful, so strong. It was easy to surrender to him, as if she were meant to. As everyone was supposed to.  
  
A weird emotion rose inside of her: jealousy. She’d never liked sharing. But he’d picked her, and he didn’t like sharing either. Satisfaction ran through her as she recalled his orders. The information was for her eyes only – besides the little snippet for McGregor of course. And even that was only so she could keep coming, had an excuse for the outside world to visit the darkest wizard of all.  
  
Lord Voldemort wanted her.  
  
She stared into her eyes in the mirror; her expression conflicted with the mixed emotions she had about that. She’d tried to kill him more than once. He was a vile creature who’d threatened everyone dear to her, who’d tortured and murdered people either by his hand or by his orders. She wanted him dead for everything he’d put her through, for ruining her teenage years with his constant presence and the danger that presence entailed.  
  
And yet, these last couple of years had been empty, meaningless, and utterly  ** _boring_**.  
  
For a second, she closed her own fingers around her throat and squeezed ever so lightly. It wasn’t the same. There was no threat. She knew she’d stop. She was in control. She was always in control. Her hand dropped. Disappointment filled her. Ron would never do this to her. He was a kind and gentle lover. A perfectly sane and logical choice. He loved her, and she did love him, a lot. Yet, she’d never really let herself go with him, hadn’t let him be the one in charge even once.  
  
 _Perhaps …?_  
  
Hermione threw her head back and closed her eyes, heaving a sigh. The thought was too ridiculous to be viable. She just couldn’t feel **that**  way about Ron. Him on top instead of her was – was … inconceivable. She wouldn’t let him. Besides, Ron wanted a dominant wife, probably due to the influence of his parents’ relationship. And Hermione could be dominant; she’d no problem bossing the world around. She liked it. She’d always thought that was her way, and she could definitely live like that. No problem. It was what was expected of her, and she enjoyed living up to or surpassing people’s expectations. She’d always done what was expected of her.  
  
 _It’s just …_  
  
It didn’t make her heart pump any faster. She’d never dropped a sweat whilst being in charge. It had never aroused her so abruptly and immediately that the core of her sex ached and her knees literally turned weak. She’d always thought that was just romance novel nonsense. Now she knew otherwise, and it was haunting her because it was so, so wrong. He was so wrong. Still, when she’d been out of control, when she was on the brink of dying, she’d felt more alive than she’d ever had.  
  
Someone slammed into the bathroom door. Ron’s groan shook her out of her thoughts. Panic briefly overwhelmed her at the chance of him noticing. She’d no idea how to explain those bruises, and unlike other times, this wouldn’t be swept away by referring to her Unspeakable Vows. He’d be too horrified to let it go. He’d probably tell Harry, and then, all hell would break loose.  
  
‘Hermione,’ Ron’s sleepy voice slurred, ‘why’s the door locked?’  
  
Her wand conjured a matching scarf to her trouser suit and it whirled around her neck decoratively. There, she was all covered up. Nobody would notice.  
  
‘Sorry,’ she said, sounding overly cheerful as she opened the door. ‘I thought I was at work already. I wasn’t quite awake coming in here. It’s early.’  
  
‘Too early,’ Ron muttered, yawning and passing her in a daze. ‘I didn’t hear you come in last night. Did your experiment on the veil go well?’  
  
Hermione paused, considering what to say to that, as she put on her coat. She didn’t like lying to Ron.  
  
‘No, Katie interrupted me for something else. I have to start anew some other time.’  
  
‘Oh?’  
  
She walked back into the bathroom and bent over to kiss him. He met her lips eagerly and they explored each other’s mouth as always. When she broke off the kiss, he gasped and his blue eyes looked at her expectantly.  
  
‘You have morning breath.’  
  
‘Sorry,’ he muttered, disappointed it wasn’t going to go any further. ‘What did Katie want? You’ve been working on that experiment for months now. It must have been important if she felt the need to interrupt you.’  
  
‘Yes, it was, but you know the drill: I can’t–’  
  
‘–speak of it,’ Ron finished.  
  
She smiled apologetically and moved on.  
  
‘Bloody mysterious Unspeakable!’ he yelled humorously after her retreating back.  
  
Hermione laughed. ‘Overly nosy Auror!’ she exclaimed, smiling. ‘See you tonight.’  
  
‘Aren’t you going to eat breakfast?’  
  
‘No, I’ll get something on the go. I’m late already.’  
  
‘Mum would kill you.’ Ron waddled his index finger and put on his best “Molly face”. ‘Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, young lady,’ he imitated perfectly, ‘especially when you’re trying to conceive. You have to take the welfare of your unborn child–’  
  
The front door slammed shut, causing him to halt his mocking performance in disappointment. She used to always laugh at his jokes. Nowadays they barely had time together. He hoped that would change once they were with child. Maybe tonight she’d be home early and they could work on that?  
  
With a smile on his face, he got off the toilet and began to get himself ready for another day at the job.

xxx

  
‘Did McGregor appreciate the little Shield Charm Enhancer you provided her with?’ Riddle asked with an upward curve of his lip.  
  
Hermione, who’d been on her way out, stopped and frowned. There had been something off with his tone of voice. Her suspicion rose when she turned and took in his amused demeanour.  
  
‘It does work?’ she questioned, placing her hands on her sides, determined to get to the truth.  
  
‘My, Ms Granger, didn’t you investigate further?’ he teased, leaning back on the bed, looking positively scrumptious.  
  
Well, no, she hadn’t. She’d been more interested in his Ancient Runes theory instead of some silly enhancement she had no use for personally. So, she’d let that one up to the department to check. An oversight in retrospect? Narrowing her eyes in distrust, her mind ran over what she remembered of it. It seemed fine at first glance, which of course it would, wouldn’t it? Lord Voldemort wouldn’t be that obvious if he handed them a pig in a poke.  
  
‘Our deal is void if you’re handing me rubbish,’ she said coolly.  
  
‘It’s not rubbish,’ he countered, stretching himself out lazily. ‘It works just fine. All those morons unable to cast a Shield Charm by themselves will be able to now.’  
  
‘And the catch is …?’ she trailed off.  
  
He smirked. ‘Are you always this suspicious?’  
  
‘Only when you are concerned,’ she bit back.  
  
His low chuckle danced through the cell. ‘I feel honoured,’ he said, rising to his feet in a sensual, lithe move.  
  
Slowly, he approached her, and Hermione felt her heartbeat speed up. Frozen on the spot, she just stood there until he stopped inches away from her and she had to look up to meet his dark eyes. Her pupils dilated, her mouth turned dry, and she swallowed for no reason other than to try to tame her anxiety. She wasn’t going to let him intimidate her by his invasion of her personal space. No, she wasn’t.  
  
Oh, who the hell was she kidding?  
  
He already was bloody intimidating when he wasn’t breathing down her neck – let alone now that he was so close and gazing down on her with such intensity that it took her breath away.  
  
‘Take off the scarf,’ he ordered barely above a whisper.  
  
Her heart skipped a beat. He’d noticed. Oh crap, that was so embarrassing. Her face turned red as she nervously undid the knot and pulled the soft silk away, the fabric a gentle caress against her bruised skin. She followed her scarf in her hands; her head lowered in shame. She wasn’t normal. She should’ve healed herself. All it would’ve taken was a simple swoosh of her wand and she wouldn’t be standing here making a fool of herself in front of him. This was supposed to be for her eyes only: her secret.  
  
‘Tilt your head back and remove that disastrous bush from my vision.’  
  
Angrily, her eyes flashed to meet his. The hair was a sore topic not to be touched by anyone.  
  
‘There is nothing wrong with my hair,’ she hissed.  
  
His eyes twinkled, entertained. Mockingly, he stared at several tufts that had risen sky-high due to the static electricity of the passing scarf, and then, his gaze caught her eyes again. Intense and sensual. He was waiting, commanding her to do his bidding without a word or a touch.  
  
Her anger was swept away only to be replaced by an uncertain need because his strong presence was so close she felt like she was about to be swallowed up. Shyly, her arms rose, pulling her hair away from her neck as she tilted her head back fully – her eyes cast sideways.  
  
From her peripheral vision, she noticed how his gaze lowered to her neck and the very visible marks he’d left there. Her breath caught in her throat when his eyes darkened. Pleasure radiated off him in waves, and his hand rose to touch her.  
  
Her heart fluttered wildly; she was waiting for that contact to happen again, standing still and silently. Waiting for his long fingers to curl around her throat and hold her life in the palm of his hand. He halted only inches away from her skin. She could practically feel the warmth of his skin. Then, abruptly, he dropped his hand.  
  
‘Put the scarf back on,’ Riddle ordered coolly.  
  
Disappointed, Hermione swallowed, not quite understanding what she’d done wrong. Why hadn’t he touched her? He’d seemed pleased she’d not healed those bruises. She was certain of that; so, why? Her hands trembled slightly as she tied the scarf around her neck clumsily, her mind wandering in confusion. And then, she recalled her demand and wanted to slap herself on her forehead. But this wasn’t what she’d meant. She’d–  
  
Riddle’s quiet, controlled voice broke her line of thinking and she looked at him.  
  
‘A Patirum Charm needs to be cast on the Shield Charm Enhancer for it to maintain its function through time. Without it, the enhancer will stop working after seven castings,’ he said, his impassive mask firmly in place.  
  
But she knew to value this additional information for the reward it was. He probably would not have told her this had she used a Healing Charm on his marks. Still, there was a teensy weensy problem with his suggestion.  
  
‘Patirum Charms are illegal due to their permanent nature.’  
  
‘And you think I care about such matters because …?’ he trailed off, eyeing her mockingly.  
  
Aghast, she tossed her arms in the air, watching him swirl away from her. Really, how was she supposed to tell her boss that the devices needed an illegal charm to work properly? She knew they’d been planning to develop them as additional security for the Auror Department. Well, that plan had just sunk with this new information. And what else was there?  
  
‘Anything else I need to know about those Shield Charm Enhancers?’  
  
Riddle halted right in front of the bed. His back was still turned to her, so she never saw the satisfactory malicious expression that covered his face as he calmly said, ‘No, that’s all.’  
  
Doubtful, Hermione stared at his back. She had a nagging feeling she was missing something. Yet, their deal had entailed that he’d tell her everything he could. She opened her mouth to question him, just in case, when he suddenly turned around (his facial features well under control again) and bid her goodbye with a small gesture of his hand. Annoyance rushed through Hermione at his blatant dismissal of her presence, and with a huff, she stomped out the cell.  
  
‘Till tomorrow, Ms Granger,’ he said to the closed door, smiling lightly as he sat down. ‘And there really is nothing  ** _you_** _ **need**_   ** _to know_** about those silly enhancers since you don’t require their usage.’  
  
His soft chuckle filled the cell for a long time.

xxx

  
Several weeks had passed. As she calmly bid Johnny the guard goodbye and was back on her way home, Hermione realised just how normal these visits to Riddle had become to her. At first, she’d been apprehensive every time she approached the island, a part of her wanting to go and another much larger part wanting to run in the opposite direction as fast as she could. She’d oppressed that voice of reason and thought of the greater good, not to mention that she’d probably be out of a job if she quit now. Katie had never been happier with her than lately.  
  
Well, even Hermione had to admit, Riddle had surely come through with his promise.  
  
Nowadays, she mainly felt excited about going, looking forward to discussing magical subjects with someone who she’d come to acknowledge had a far superior mind to hers. It irked her at times when he would yet again shower her with arguments and she’d be reaching for straws to counter him. Or even worse, she’d have some statement or some question, and he would utilise the Socratic method on her until her jaws opened and shut without any sound being produced.  
  
And then, he would smirk.  
  
Her eyes darkened at the memory. She really wanted to throttle him in those moments. Slowly and deliberately. Just to feel the last breath slip out of that obnoxious, irritating, almighty, egotistical, self-centred, overbearing, knowledgeable, smart, powerful, domineering, hot …  
  
Oh Merlin, this was completely inappropriate of her. She was a happily married woman. She wasn’t supposed to be drooling over other men, especially not over Tom Riddle.   
  
Still, it was nice to have a subject other than Quidditch to talk about. And the idea of him on top of her, holding her down, as he would take …  
  
A frustrated groan left her lips, and she sunk a bit farther into the seat of the ministerial car.  
  
No, no, no, she loved Ron.  
  
Besides, Riddle hadn’t touched her since that day. He’d surely kept up his end of the bargain, which was fortunate.   
  
Really.   
  
Because she and Ron were trying to get pregnant and it wouldn’t be good for the baby if she got choked on a regular basis.  
  
Hermione sighed and stared out the car’s window, while her hand was absentmindedly stroking her neck.  
  
They’d been trying for a long time now and still nothing. It was frustrating her. She’d been to the Healer yesterday and got a dozen prescriptions of different fertility potions to take. She’d no time to buy them and had asked Ron if he could stop by the Potions store on his way home. He’d said yes, of course, and had taken the prescriptions with him.  
  
Fertility potions … well, her mother had reminded her how hard it had been for her and her dad, so Hermione wasn’t too surprised of it not happening fast, and the Healer had suggested those potions after she’d told them about her parents having problems, but still … fertility potions, well, they weren’t exactly healthy. She wasn’t looking forward to taking them. On the other hand, she really wanted a child, so … she supposed she had to pick the lesser of two evils.  
  
The car stopped at the back entrance of the ministry, pulling Hermione out of her thoughts.  
  
‘Thanks, Monroe,’ she said to the driver.  
  
‘Till morning.’  
  
‘Morning,’ Hermione acknowledged, getting out and walking to her office in the Department of Mysteries.

xxx

  
Soon, Hermione’s visits became the one thing in his boring days that he really looked forward to. The girl ...  _woman_  – he corrected mentally – was exceptionally bright. He’d known that ever since he’d written down his Ancient Runes theory together with the Shield Charm Enhancer. Only someone with real insight would see exactly what the true value was of both, and she’d not been able to stop chattering about possible outcomes and practical applications on his method of logogram use. She’d hardly touched the other subject and when she did, it had been obvious it was at her boss’s request, which had been exactly what he’d predicted would happen. It had been a risk, be that a calculated one, to write down a theory so valuable, but he had to see if she was worthy of his time and he couldn’t do that with nonsense.  
  
And oh boy, was she worthy.  
  
He’d never had a student this quick on the uptake, which was all the more astonishing if he took under consideration he couldn’t show her a damn thing. She had to do with him telling her how. Then, she wouldn’t be able to try it until she was home, which meant that he couldn’t correct her if she did something wrong. Still, it was rare for her to come back disgruntled and embarrassed about having failed at something.  
  
He smirked.  
  
Too rare.  
  
She was rather endearing and amusing when she was uncomfortable around him, which had got rarer, too. It worked to his benefit to have her somewhat at ease, but he didn’t want her to forget either. He wasn’t interested in someone who fell for his acts. She needed to accept who and what he was fully, and for that, she needed to accept who and what she was first.  _That_  would be considerably more difficult to achieve, since in this so-called modern day and age, it was simply not done for a woman to admit she wanted to be submissive to a man.  
  
He’d seen it, that day when she tried to kill him. There had been a brief moment when her eyes had locked with his as in a dare, and he’d known then what she probably hadn’t even known herself. Somewhere in a dark corner of her mind, she was searching for someone to conquer her. He’d registered it, filed it away as entertaining yet useless information that Potter’s Mudblood was a sub – perhaps even a masochist since it took a bit more to dare  _Him_  of all people – until he’d got the silly Healer and his insipid students to hand him all the information on Potter’s victory.  
  
Then, he’d realised exactly just how bloody damn important that girl had been for Potter. It had infuriated him beyond belief that he’d missed something this obvious. He’d known the boy was nothing special. He wasn’t particularly bright, had a big mouth, was too impulsive for his own good, and wore his heart on his sleeve. If she’d not been there to reason with him, to steer him in the right direction …  
  
His hands balled into fists and his entire body shook with fury. He could’ve won. He would’ve won easily if he’d taken her out of the equation from the get go.  
  
Still, there was no use in dwelling on past mistakes. He’d not spend the last couple of years focusing his considerable brainpower on getting past those wards to waste precious time now. That thought relaxed him thoroughly. The tension seeped from his muscles, and he rested his back against the pillow again, closing his eyes to drown out the brightness of the lamps. Hermione had convinced several of the guards to lower the intensity of the lightning in his cell to something more bearable. But today, the one who was on duty didn’t care and followed procedure. Still, the fact that she tried to make his stay more comfortable was telling on its own.  
  
This time Lord Voldemort would prevail because he had something to offer Hermione Granger that her moronic husband and Potter would never be willing to give her: peace of mind by allowing her to tap into her deepest, darkest desires of surrender. He’d show her loss of control, obedience, pleasure and pain until she was on such a high she’d never want to come down. Once she submitted to him fully, which he estimated would take a little less than a year, he’d leave this ghastly place and she’d have one choice to make: death or him.  
  
It made no difference to him. Either way, his victory was secured.  
  
The door flung upon and a smile crossed his face when Hermione entered in a hurry – her face red from rushing down all those stairs. Immediately, she started babbling about magic even before taking her jacket off. Her level of enthusiasm was contagious, and he sat up straight, moving his legs off the bed to make room for her while letting the waterfall of words wash over him with pleasure. When she finally gasped for air, he intervened before she could rant on.  
  
‘Sit down first, Hermione,’ he pleasantly ordered. ‘And try to breathe in between words, we do have all the time in the world.’  
  
She calmed down slightly and smiled at him, making a face at his jest on her manner of speaking. But she still did as he ordered: she quieted down, hung her jacket on the hanger next to the door and approached the bed to sit down next to him. Suddenly, she stopped, slapping her hand in front of her mouth.  
  
‘Oh,’ she exclaimed, ‘I almost forgot.’  
  
Hermione paced back to her jacket and ruffled in its pocket, pulling out a Daily Prophet as always and something wrapped in tinfoil. His eyebrows rose as she held it out to him. The paper he’d got used to her bringing along ever since she realised he had nothing to read in this place. Apparently the idea of not being able to read had been absolutely horrifying to her, making her empathise with his suffering, and she’d convinced herself it wasn’t a problem if he read the news. He’d been suitably thankful – well, he truly was, not being able to read anything had been a bore – but he hoped he could convince her to bring something more worthwhile soon.  
  
‘Take it,’ she said, nodding to him supportively, ‘before it gets cold.’  
  
 _Cold? Had she …? No way._  
  
Surprised, he accepted the package and opened it carefully. Hot vapours with a mouth-watering smell reached his nostrils and a soft, lust-filled moan left his lips before he could control himself. Something spicy instead of that utterly bland, disgusting shit they served here. A couple of days ago, they’d somehow got to the topic of food. He didn’t really recall how they happened to get that distracted, but he did recall mentioning some of his favourites and one of them – a curry pie with a beautiful, brown pastry crust – was resting in a plastic container on his lap.  
  
‘Thank Godric, it hasn’t collapsed,’ Hermione commented, sitting down next to him. ‘I was a bit worried about having to carry it in my pocket like this, so I used a Patirum Charm to keep it intact; but I wasn’t sure if the Azkaban wards would pick up on it, so ...’  
  
He blocked out her babbling and picked up the fork. Slowly, he broke the crust and made sure to have a bit of everything on his fork for that first bite. His anticipation rose as he waited a bit longer before tasting it. Another moan left his lips, and he dropped his head.  
  
Just perfect.  
  
He savoured every bite after that, taking great care in not rushing, even though he basically felt like pigging out now. He suddenly realised it had gone quite quiet in the cell, so he looked sideways. Hermione was watching him with a broad, fond smile on her face.  
  
‘This has fresh ginger and garlic in it instead of some pre-made curry paste or powder,’ he commented.  
  
Hermione nodded. ‘I prefer making everything from scratch. Those pastes are fine, but it’s not quite the same as when you use fresh ingredients.’  
  
 _She made it? Okay, he was sold. She could stay._  
  
‘Fresh garlic, and I am soooo not sharing,’ he teased in between bites.  
  
‘I’ll live,’ Hermione said, amused.  
  
 _Oh yessss, you will, dear._  
  
‘I can always go sit over there,’ she said humorously, pointing to opposite wall, ‘if you stink too much.’   
  
He snorted.  
  
 _Just try and escape me, my dear. Just try. I’ve never minded a chase._

xxx

  
Her mind wasn’t on her job today. This morning she’d performed the charm to test for pregnancy twice, and still, nothing. She’d been swallowing those disgusting potions for months now, she and Ron had been doing it every night – going over the moves mechanically at some point, and still, nothing. It made her thoroughly depressed, and a part of her worried that something could be wrong with her and they’d never get pregnant – never get that family that everyone wanted for them.  
  
Whenever she saw Ginny (who had a huge belly for the second time) or Molly (who wanted to be everyone’s grandmother), she felt like she’d let everyone down – like she was a failure at being a wife, even though nobody voiced such thoughts to her. They were all very understanding and kind to her and Ron, telling them it would happen eventually – that they just needed to be patient. Well, she was fed up with being patient. She just wanted this to happen, so she and Ron could finally be happy, too.  
  
‘What’s the matter?’ asked Riddle in a soft voice.  
  
Hermione looked sideways and noticed he’d stopped scribbling in her notebook on the explanatory diagram. Instead he was watching her sharply, his face set thoughtfully. Whenever he placed his full attention on her, she’d a hard time controlling her completely inappropriate physical reactions. She’d even stopped trying to hide them when she realised how utterly futile those attempts were. It was embarrassing how easily he could unravel her thoughts, especially since he was extremely hard to read to her. No matter how often she’d been here now, no matter how many times she’d seen him, he had such absolute control over his expressions that it made it impossible for her to deduce what he was truly thinking. It created an uneven balance in their relationship and caused him to have power over her that she couldn’t shake of, even if she would’ve tried.  
  
Which she hadn’t.  
  
When she stayed silent, his long, slender fingers placed down the pen. Slowly, he turned towards her, placing his ankle on his knee as his elbow leaned on his other knee, propping his head on his hand, while his other arm rested on his lap casually. His pale fingers stuck out even more in his black locks. Somehow she couldn’t quite get over how absolutely breathtaking he was. And it wasn’t so much his looks that drew her attention, even though she had to admit he was positively gorgeous: tall, dark and handsome. What more could a girl want?  
  
But that was just on a superficial level, something she could easily prick through: a beautiful picture which held no real power over her.  
  
However, Tom Marvolo Riddle’s power didn’t lie in his looks. He’d already proven that by attracting followers with his distorted snakelike features. When she’d been a teenager, she’d never quite understood as to why so many had decided to follow his lead. After all, she’d never truly met him. And to her, he’d been nothing more than a crazy bigot with immortality issues and delusions of grandeur. She’d always gathered that people followed him because of his magical prowess – they feared and admired his power.  
  
Now she knew differently.   
  
He had no magic to fling at her, no Cruciatus Curse to threaten her with, and she realised he never needed to. She’d completely underestimated him. There was something about him, something indefinable, that made you listen when he spoke. And it wasn’t due to his tremendous intelligence, even though that was quite an attractive quality to her.  
  
No, she had a feeling he could be talking gibberish and people would still be in awe.  
  
His charismatic personality was his biggest asset. Something that didn’t die with the loss of his magic. Something that, even with her knowing exactly who and what he was, still was impossible to ignore. It not only made you listen, it made you want him to notice you. It made you do his bidding, freely and wantonly, aching for that tiny bit of approval, for acknowledgement and praise, for any small signal on his end that proved you existed in his eyes, that you mattered.  
  
It was ridiculous, and Hermione knew it. She knew he didn’t care about anyone else but himself. She knew her existence or self-worth didn’t depend upon him. She knew it … when she was safely away from him.  
  
Yet, when being in the same room, when he was only inches away, when that pervasive, strong, dominant personality of his engulfed her, all her rationality fled her mind, and she wanted nothing more than to please him. And when he would look at her, acknowledge her with those deep, dark eyes of his, her heart would skip a beat before fluttering like crazy.  
  
Yes, their relationship most definitely was uneven, and she had no idea how to balance out the power he held over her or whether she even wanted to do that. There was a deeply erotic notion to being out of control, and it aroused her. It sent delightful anticipatory tingles through her body, even though she knew nothing would happen. Lord Voldemort wasn’t one to break his word without due cause, and that relative safety allowed her those little fantasies, let her enjoy the sensations it elicited inside of her and made her able to convince herself she wasn’t cheating on Ron – nothing really happened after all. She wasn’t doing anything wrong. It was just make-believe in her mind. Nothing happened. She was happily married … And she’d be happier if … if only she had children – could be a mother, a family with … Ron.  
  
‘What’s wrong?’ Riddle enquired again, targeting her with that inherently dark gaze of his. ‘You’ve been distracted all morning.’  
  
‘It’s nothing,’ she whispered uncomfortably.  
  
No matter how personal and intimate some of their discussions had become, this really wasn’t a subject she wanted to discuss with him. It really wasn’t.  
  
‘Nothing,’ he repeated slowly as if he were tasting the word and its meaning on his tongue, and by the looks of his disbelieving expression, he found it quite unsatisfactory.  
  
‘I don’t want to talk about it.’  
  
‘Ah,’ he said, enlightened, ‘so, it involves your husband. What did the twit do wrong this time?’  
  
‘Don’t call him that.’  
  
Riddle shrugged. A small, mischievous, unapologetic twinkle sparkled in his eyes. ‘What would you rather have me call him: Quidditch maniac, mummy’s boy, ghoul-brains, or … coward?’  
  
The last word held an edge of viciousness that struck home hard. Hermione and Ron had never, not once, truly discussed what had happened during that year they went “camping”. There was always something else happening that took precedence whenever she wanted to talk it over with him, and after a while, she began to feel silly for still wanting to bring it up and so, she let it go, not wanting to be seen as a nagging, nitpicking female. But as such, his act and her resentment remained, unspoken of, lingering like a festering cancer in their relationship, since the betrayal she’d felt had never completely left her. It made Riddle’s words have much more impact than they should’ve had, and not wanting to deal with that pain, she lashed out.  
  
‘Sore loser,’ she bit back.  
  
The moment the two words left her mouth, she wished she could take them back for the air around her instantaneously chilled. His body tensed, poised as a jungle cat ready to strike. The sudden danger she found herself in was quite obvious from the way his expression turned ice-cold and venomous. If looks could kill, she’d be a corpse now. A brutally mutilated corpse. Instantly, his reaction to her verbal faux pas reminded her whom exactly she’d been baiting and how unfair it was to blame him for Ron’s shortcomings and her inability to express her feelings about them to her husband.  
  
‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered, sitting stock-still, concerned that if she moved, the predator next to her would strike and eat her alive.  
  
He breathed deeply, the movements of his chest upon each inhale and exhale the only motion visible on his body. She could tell he was restraining himself from lashing out and hurting her. She bit her lip. How had their conversation drifted into these treacherous, dark and muddy waters? And how the hell could she steer out of it without sinking in deeper and inevitably drowning in her words?   
  
‘I–I …’ She took a breath, trying to gather the courage to admit to something that was oh so difficult for her. ‘I can’t talk to Ron about these things and it’s frustrating. I didn’t mean to snap at you. It was unfair of me. I am just on edge these days.’ She looked down and fiddled with her hands. ‘It’s not your fault. It’s just … I can’t seem to get pregnant,’ she muttered barely audibly.  
  
Riddle quirked an eyebrow in surprise. His body language visibly relaxed, and he leaned forward, placing a hand on either side of her and lowering his head to capture her eyes.  
  
‘Is there something medically wrong with you?’ he asked carefully.  
  
She shook her head silently, not meeting his sudden comforting gaze but staring at the very interesting ceiling instead. Her chin trembled and she swallowed, pushing the tears that were forming deep inside of her away, as she always did lately.  
  
‘M-my parents had a hard time, too. But the Healer said everything was fine with me. Still …’ she paused, sniffing up her nose, ‘those fertility potions should’ve done the trick by now. Their effectiveness is nearly hundred percent.’  
  
Tom Riddle frowned. ‘How long have you been taking them?’  
  
‘Almost three months now.’  
  
‘Three months,’ he hissed furiously. ‘Do you have any idea how …?’  
  
Hermione closed her eyes and hung her head in dejection. Yes, she very well knew how unhealthy those potions were and what the risks of extended use entailed. She didn’t need the lecture. Suddenly, she realised he’d stopped in his angry reprimand before finishing. It was so uncharacteristic of him to stop talking that she looked up and watched him questioningly. His expression was kind and understanding. It made her feel not so alone in her worries, and for a split-second, she wished he was Ron.  
  
‘Three months and still nothing?’ he asked gently.  
  
She nodded, watching him look down thoughtfully. His black locks fell into his face, and he absentmindedly stroked them to the side. Hermione frowned. She was about to ask what he was thinking when he lifted his head and the words stayed frozen in her throat with their intimate closeness and the undeniable attraction she felt towards him.  
  
‘I’m …’ he sighed. ‘I don’t want to suggest something redundant …’ he paused, watching her expectantly.  
  
‘No, it’s all right,’ she replied immediately, wondering if he possibly could have a solution for her. He’d healed the Longbottoms after all. Something nobody else had been able to do.  
  
‘Well … I was wondering if they’d checked out your husband,’ he said cautiously.  
  
Hermione blinked and stared at him dumbfounded. She’d not considered that. Well, Ron’s parents had seven children and none of them had any issues with conceiving whatsoever. Ginny, George, Percy, and Bill: They had children. So, she’d automatically assumed it’d been her with her parents’ genetic background. She’d never thought Ron could be the reason. Oh Merlin, if he were, he’d never be able to handle it. His inferiority complex had lessened somewhat after the war but not enough for it to disappear fully.  
  
‘Sterility is a known cause of long term inbreeding,’ Riddle added seriously.  
  
Then, she knew her ears were deceiving her. She did NOT just hear Lord Voldemort make a comment about inbreeding.  
  
‘Excuse me?’ she asked, a clearly warning undertone slipping into her voice.  
  
It was the undertone that made him take full notice of her. A taunting smirk crossed his face, targeted directly at her. And to make matters worse, it was a knowing smirk. He was perfectly aware what had got her riled up, that–that unbelievable blood-purity bigot!  
  
‘What did you just say?’ she hissed angrily.  
  
He removed his hands from beside her in the mattress and folded them over each other as he leaned back and cheerfully continued informing her of things that were in complete contradiction to his old doctrine of pure-blood superiority.

‘Well, all that marrying within the family is bound to have adverse effects on the gene pool. It was very clear with the Malfoys and the Lestranges. Believe me, they tried, many times. Both Bella and Rodolphus were deemed practically sterile by the Healers, and Narcissa didn’t have much to work with either. Not to mention that I doubt Lucius’s ability to actually get it up for anything but his own reflection would be helpful, even if his semen count would’ve been normal. These are very common issues in many pure-blood families. It’s either that or odd, debilitating illnesses. Did you think the incredibly short lifespan of the average Black was an accident? I say it’s surprising the Weasleys lucked out for so long. I am betting serious money on there being some outside not so pure-blooded influence in their family tree somewhere.’  
  
Despite that the pun about Lucius briefly made her lip curl, her anger rose to astronomical heights with every additional word that came out of his mouth. This was the man responsible for the Muggle-born Registration Commission, for the prosecution of everyone like her during his days in power, and here he sat, right in front of her, having the nerve to tell her this?! It was obscene. Outrageous.  
  
‘So, it wouldn’t surprise me one bit–oww!’ Tom called out as he landed not so softly on his arse between the bed and the table when she’d shoved him away roughly.  
  
Hermione flew to her feet thoroughly aggravated, revelling in how the back of his head hit the table with a distinct thud and how he clutched to it in pain. Good, she hoped that hurt lots. He could use a good smack on the head. Maybe then some sense would stick. Why had she ever let Katie talk her into coming here? So–so mind-bogglingly insane of her. She paced away quickly, snatched her jacket from the hanger and stomped to the door, not looking back.  
  
‘Say, Mudblood,’ he sneered harshly.  
  
Abruptly, she halted, balling her hands into fists. Perhaps she should make his nose resemble the way it used to look?  
  
‘Are you such a scatterbrain that you would leave behind the information you were sent here to get or are you suddenly capable of memorising the Astronomy charts by heart?’ he taunted.  
  
Her notebook. Dammit. It was still on the table.  
  
For a moment, she considered leaving without it. Then, responsibility sank in. Hermione turned around on her heels and froze. Tom Riddle was still sitting on the floor, his arms leaning casually on the table, while he used her notebook as a fan. The cool breeze it produced made his black hair dance around his face, causing it to flicker blue on instances when the light fell precisely at the right angle. Yet, the most striking feature was his teasing, humorous expression. He was actually enjoying himself tremendously as a result of her actions. That, more than anything else, made her pause.  
  
He’d done it deliberately.  
  
She had no idea why or what he’d hoped for, but he’d held that speech deliberately to gauge her reaction. She became more and more certain of it with each passing second as that smirk of his broadened further and further. This was the worst of it: he seemed pleased for some unknown, insane reason. His eyes were glinting at her in delight as he planted her notebook against his chin in a phoney, thoughtful manner.  
  
‘Well, Granger, do you want this or not?’  
  
She inhaled sharply and counted to ten, too fast to really lower her temper. Then, she unclenched her fists and paced towards the table, holding out her hand. Yet, Riddle had equally quickly placed the notebook against his chest and folded his arms over it protectively. Hermione stood there silently, waiting, as he sat there silently, waiting.  
  
‘I don’t have all day,’ she hissed.  
  
‘I do.’  
  
‘That’s not even remotely funny.’  
  
‘I don’t think you’ll catch me laughing about it either,’ he replied coolly.  
  
She pulled her hand back and mirrored his pose with her arms. ‘What do you want?’  
  
‘What makes you think I want something?’  
  
‘Well,’ she said, making a face, ‘there is the childish hostage holding of a notebook.’  
  
He sniggered. ‘Perhaps I’m hoping you’ll try to wrestle it away from me?’ he suggested deviously. ‘You do get deliciously physical whenever your temper flares. Plus,’ he added, leaning forward suggestively, ‘you’re positively enticing when you give in to your darker tendencies,  _Hermione_.’  
  
Her face flushed red, and she didn’t know where to look or how to respond. From her peripheral vision, she witnessed him holding out the notebook to her rather suddenly. Hesitantly, her fingers gripped the other end, and sure enough, as expected, he didn’t let go immediately. Their eyes met.  
  
‘Don’t ever forget who I am, Hermione,’ Riddle said darkly. ‘I get bored rapidly with people who do and those who bore me …’ he trailed off threateningly.  
  
‘I’d not forgotten for a second who and what you are,  _Voldemort_.’  
  
‘So I’ve noticed,’ he replied, smirking satisfactorily. He let go of the notebook and placed his hands behind his head, his eyes flickering over her body appreciatively. ‘You’ve been a  _very_   _good girl_ , Hermione Granger,’ he said seductively, raising her embarrassment up a nudge as her thighs squirmed together in an involuntary reaction.  
  
Then, he ordered in a harsh tone of voice: ‘Now leave.’  
  
He pulled the Daily Prophet from the table and started reading, actively dismissing her by ignoring her presence. Hermione let out a long breath before rolling her eyes. Shaking her head, she wondered how he and his inflated ego even fitted together in this cell without suffocating. Clamping the notebook under her armpit, she turned on her heels in irritation. As her hand turned the doorknob, Riddle spoke up casually.  
  
‘Why don’t you think of an appropriate punishment for your insolent behaviour, and we’ll discuss it tomorrow.’  
  
Her stomach flip-flopped. Something pooled deep within her belly at his words and her fingers tightened on the knob as she turned her head towards him. Yet, he no longer acknowledged her; he was impassively reading the paper, domineering the situation even further. It caused a slightly excited tremble to travel through her body from head to toe. Quickly, she opened the door and rushed out, wanting to put as much distance between herself and the reason she had a sudden itch that desperately needed scratching:  _Him_.

xxx

  
That night she shagged Ron so hard and passionately that he had no idea which side was up or down and what was right from wrong anymore. The world stopped existing for him, and all he saw was her, screaming out her name during his climax at the top of his voice.  
  
‘Bloody hell, Hermione,’ he muttered, perspiring effusively as he collapsed on their bed. ‘That was fucking amazing.’  
  
As she rolled to her side of the bed next to him, she stared at the ceiling silently, still feeling that blasted itch that she’d not been able to shag away, no matter how hard she’d tried. When she finally heard Ron’s soft snores, Hermione pulled out her wand and deepened his sleep so he wouldn’t wake when she brewed the potion for her test.  
  
Fifteen minutes later, she stared at the result in tears. Ron was sterile, and there was no way she could possibly tell him he’d be the reason they would never have a complete family together. He’d never recover. They’d never recover. She had to lie and pretend it was her. That way Ron wouldn’t have to feel inferior to his siblings, and their marriage still had some chance of surviving this ordeal. He could be supportive to  _her_  problem, be the hero in everyone’s eyes, as he would “help” her through  _her_  issue.  
  
Yes, that was the best way to deal with this. He didn’t need to know. It would only cause him irreparable pain. Swiftly, Hermione disposed of the evidence and went back to bed. She stubbornly ignored the small voice in the back of her mind that reprimanded her about another much more dangerous threat to the survival of her marriage.

xxx


	4. Toying with the Devil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to my betas: Serpent In Red and Cosettex.

**The Prisoner**  
  
 **Chapter 4: Toying with the Devil**  
  
Hermione was nervous. Extremely nervous. Not certain what to do. She’d hesitated coming to Azkaban all morning. She’d been stalling on the staircase, halting many times and taking a couple of steps back up before deciding to move down again. Right now, she stood in front of that rough wood door, frozen to the ground – one step away from entering that sickening, circular corridor where she couldn’t afford to hesitate and a couple of more steps away from his cell.  
  
Yet, she couldn’t bring herself to open the door. His parting words kept running through her mind, tempting, exhilarating, and frightening her at the same time. The worst part of it was that she didn’t think those feelings were mutually exclusive. They enhanced each other.  
  
 _‘Why don’t you think of an appropriate punishment for your insolent behaviour and we’ll discuss it tomorrow.’_  
  
His words kept repeating themselves in her mind. Over and over and over again. As they had done ever since he’d said them yesterday. She’d hardly slept because her mind had got rather creative on “appropriate” things, and she somehow couldn’t shut it down to get some much needed sleep. It didn’t help that by the time it was three a.m. she’d basically envisioned shagging Riddle in every position and on every surface of that cell imaginable.  
  
Merlin, this was so bloody embarrassing. It was a good thing he couldn’t do Legilimency or she would never  **ever**  go back in there.  
  
Appropriate punishment, arse.  
  
Who the hell did he think he was suggesting something like that to her? And her behaviour was insolent – hers?  
  
Hermione huffed.  
  
He should take a good look in the mirror. Talk about insolent behaviour that needed punishing, well, she was sure he was taking the lead on that one. Oh goodie, he’d probably be pleased to be number one in that, too. The horror of Lord Voldemort coming in second, he’d stay in it. Forever. A nervous chuckle left her lips, sounding unlike herself and making her aware that her aggravation and brief anger hadn’t taken away her inner turmoil. No, they were maximising it. How on earth was she going to face him?  
  
Not like this, that was for sure. Too telling. Far, far too telling. She couldn’t let him notice how much he’d got to her. Not that he had because he hadn’t. She wasn’t contemplating to do anything after all. Nothing at all. He was just a manipulative piece of shit who had far more actively working brain cells than any human being should be allowed to have.  
  
A frustrated groan left her lips.  
  
Why, why, why did he have to be so obnoxiously clever? The way he could do the most complicated Arithmancy equations by heart, or when he was writing down some theory in that elegant handwriting of his, and she’d ask a question which he would answer to the point while continuing to write on his other project – my, that made her knees weak. Closing her eyes, she rested her forehead against the door.  
  
Merlin’s pants! Why couldn’t he be some dim-witted, evil moron? At least then, she wouldn’t feel so God damn attracted to him.  
  
Voldemort. Voldemort. Voldemort.  
  
She tried to slam the wretched name into her silly mind to stop this unwise attraction she felt. But it didn’t work. Not that she’d forgotten who he was and what he was capable of doing. No, not at all. She’d just got to see a side of him she’d not been aware existed. Well, she knew he was supposed to be intelligent. She’d heard from Harry how Dumbledore had called him the smartest student that Hogwarts had ever seen. It was just that hearing about it was something altogether different from being around it and to be around someone that intelligent, that stimulating … well, it made her question every choice she’d made in her life.  
  
So, here she was, standing there with a doorknob in her hand, unmoving. His sentence continued pushing her forward and stopping her from going all at the same time. Hence, on top of everything else, she was remarkably late. Something he would most definitely notice. Not that they had a preset arrangement concerning what time she was supposed to be there, but she’d always been there around nine in the morning and it was well past eleven now. It was an extremely telling and conspicuous lateness, one which she had to explain away, of course. Some excuse. Work-related. Blame her boss or whatever.  
  
 _Yeah_ , her mind replied sarcastically,  _that’ll work. I’m positive Lord Voldemort will buy that nonsense._  
  
You’re late. You’re late. What to say?  
  
Nothing!  
  
Of course, she didn’t have to find excuses or whatever. Let him notice. She didn’t owe him an explanation. She wasn’t the bleeding prisoner here. He was. What was she doing anyway, feeling nervous? He should be nervous. Yep. Not her. She had nothing to be nervous about. No magic and he couldn’t touch her anyway. They had a deal. And ... and … if he broke it, she could too. Yep, she could and she would. Definitely.  
  
Taking a deep breath, she opened the door and made her way through the sickening corridor past the other door into his cell. He was reading, thoroughly engulfed in one of the books she’d brought with her three days ago. Hermione had a feeling she could fire a cannon next to his ear, and he wouldn’t take notice. That was how concentrated he seemed. His brow was slightly furrowed and he seemed to nibble on his full lower lip every other second.  
  
 _Wouldn’t mind doing that,_ her mind considered – precisely at the moment when he looked up from behind the page!  
  
Hermione felt her face burn and her embarrassment heightened even further by knowing he’d seen her blush. To her surprise, however, there came no teasing, smug remark.  
  
Instead, he asked her: ‘Did you read this?’ and held up the book in example.  
  
‘Of course,’ Hermione said, letting out a relieved breath when she recognised the telltale signs in his expression which indicated he was too busy considering theoretical merits to be concerned with their previous discussion. She was safe. For now.  
  
So, why was she feeling a pang of disappointment all of the sudden?  
  
Quietly, she turned around, removed today’s paper from her pocket and hung her jacket in its usual spot.  
  
‘What did you think of their theory on ritual usage in magic?’ he asked.  
  
‘I felt it was interesting,’ she said in as casual a voice she could muster as she approached the bed and tentatively sat down next to him. Somehow she hadn’t completely shaken that previous uneasy feeling. He was a viper, known to lull his enemies to sleep before striking all the more viciously. She hadn’t forgotten.  
  
‘Interesting?’ He quirked an eyebrow at her uninformative answer.  
  
 _Oh clever, trying to get me engaged into a debate, so I won’t expect a thing. And does he really think that innocent expression is believable? On Him? Pooh!_  
  
This – him reading, him engaging in a theoretical discussion with her – this had to be an elaborate trap. Buying his time and attacking her when she no longer expected it to happen. Yes, that must be his game play. But she would be ready. He wasn’t fooling her. Two could play this game. She had to keep her eye on the real ball instead of the fake one he was serving now.  
  
‘Yes, the knowledge that the rituals are basically unnecessary for the actual casting yet are done for the purpose of unifying society – a tool to create “collective effervescence” – I found that interesting. It’s why I brought you the book,’ she replied, wriggling her fingers subconsciously.  
  
‘I find it nonsensical rubbish,’ he replied curtly.  
  
‘Oh,’ was all that left Hermione’s lips. She turned sideways and stared at him in bafflement, her eyes as wide as saucers. She’d never deemed him to be strict to the rules of the olde. For as far as she remembered, rules weren’t exactly a part of Voldemort’s dictionary.  
  
‘Why?’ she asked, now genuinely interested.  
  
Tom moved slightly, facing her as he spoke with his usual fervour when magic was concerned.  
  
‘A ritual serves a purpose for the actual performance of the casting since it focuses the attention of the caster on the important steps to be taking before the actual goal of the casting is achieved. It makes the caster focus on all the gestures in performing the ritual just right which, in effect, causes the caster to cast to the best of his abilities. So, even if a ritual takes attention away from the goal as the author states, it serves the purpose of achieving it, depending on whether or not the moron doing the casting is capable of anything in the first place.’  
  
For a long time, they were engaged in a vigorous debate about the book’s premises and its conclusions. It was so stimulating that Hermione had completely forgotten her previous unease and “game plan”. She was far too busy laying out why she felt he was taking his “usual shortcuts” (as she unflatteringly called them) when he tossed everything in the bin the author had stated.  
  
‘My usual what?’ Tom asked, snorting.  
  
‘Shortcuts,’ Hermione said sternly. ‘You always do that. It’s driving me crazy. You can’t toss the child away with the bathwater simply because you don’t like one thing of the theory.’  
  
‘Would be a shame for the water,’ Tom muttered under his breath.  
  
‘What? Oh, you,’ she chided. ‘Crikey, that reminds me, I am almost too late. It needs to be taken at noon precisely.’  
  
Hermione ruffled in her trousers’ pocket and pulled out a tiny vial with an oddly coloured potion. Tom frowned, but before he could act, she’d already uncorked the vial and downed the liquid. However, he was able to snatch the empty vial away and smell it. His face darkened immediately and he waggled the vial in front of her face.  
  
‘Why are you still taking this unhealthy rubbish? You said he was sterile. Do you honestly think drinking this potion will do any good to his sperm? It’s not going inside him.’  
  
Hermione snatched the empty vial back. ‘I don’t expect  **you**  to understand it,’ she hissed, pocketing it.  
  
‘By all means, try and explain it, Granger. No sane person would understand.’  
  
‘It’s only for a couple of months. By then I can gently break the news that we’ve tried everything, but I just can’t conceive.’  
  
‘You?’ Tom snorted. ‘Are you seriously risking your health to protect his feeble emotions?’  
  
‘It’s what you do when you love someone. You protect them.’  
  
‘By getting a heart attack, a brain haemorrhage, loss of mobility, renal failure – do I need to cite them all to you, Granger?’  
  
‘I’m aware of the possible risks.’  
  
‘You could’ve fooled me. Seriously, if you want to “protect” Weasley, take a fake potion instead.’  
  
‘I can’t.’  
  
‘Really? Why not?’ Tom looked around the empty cell mockingly. ‘Because he will notice? I don’t think he was around when you downed that vial just yet and even if he were around–’ a condescending snort finished that sentence, stating more clearly than words how he valued Ron’s skills of observation.  
  
Hermione yanked up her trousers and slammed her swollen ankle on the table. ‘Because the damn potion has side-effects, okay,’ she hissed.  
  
And this wasn’t even the worst one, but she so wasn’t sharing how her sex drive had risen. It had been pretty convenient in faking it around Ron. She hadn’t felt attracted to him for some time now, and she was sure that without the potions’ stimulation on her nether regions, he would’ve noticed this too.  
  
Tom looked unimpressed at her ankle. ‘A Glamour Charm could easily disguise your ankle to appear like that. I doubt the dolt would notice. You wouldn’t perhaps be …’ he leaned in toward her, ‘ _enjoying_  the side-effects?’  
  
Hermione squirmed and pressed her thighs together in response to the sudden need that pooled in her belly.  
  
‘As I thought,’ he said, his face grave, ‘you’ve become addicted.’  
  
‘Am not.’  
  
‘You wouldn’t be the first. Though that incompetent Healer should’ve picked up on it by now.’  
  
Hermione noticed he clenched his fists and a slight tremble travelled through his body as he angled away from her. Suddenly, she felt afraid. Extremely afraid. He was clearly trying to contain himself from doing something violent. Since she was the only one in the room, she’d be the only available target and Hermione had absolutely no desire to become the target of Lord Voldemort’s violence. This was definitely not the type of punishment that had gone through her mind all night long. She had to do something, had to get him to relax somehow. He didn’t seem to succeed on his own. She could tell by the increasing tension in his muscles. However, she was also worried that if she opened her mouth now, it would be the trigger that put him into action. She had to be careful.  
  
‘I am not addicted,’ she repeated softly but surely. ‘You can only become addicted if you take all three primary ingredients together in the draught. I’ve distilled the Red Clover out of this one. It also greatly diminishes the other health risks you mentioned.’  
  
Concerned, she watched him, ready to make a run for it, although she sincerely doubted she’d get to the door first. His legs were a lot longer than hers after all. 

However, he took a deep breath, relaxed his muscles and unclenched his fists before turning his attention back to her.  
  
‘Diminishing is not the same as completely excluding the risks,’ he countered, staring at her seriously.  
  
‘I know,’ she said, her voice sounding defeated as she dropped her head in her hands. ‘I – I … just … I can’t … Ron would be … It’ll destroy him and I …’  
  
It turned silent in the cell. Nobody moved or said anything for what seemed like an eternity.  
  
‘Clever solution though,’ Tom said quietly.  
  
Hermione looked up at hearing his voice. It sounded so kind and even somewhat impressed, completely opposed to what she’d been expecting. Her breath hitched for a second upon noticing how genteel the expression was with which he considered her before continuing his sentence in that same soft speech.  
  
‘Distilling the Red Clover out of the Fertility Draught, it’s positively brilliant and not easy to achieve as well. It tends to bind with the Agnus Cactus berries and changes the molecular structure of both compounds. As far as I know, nobody has managed to split both ingredients after their binding and get them back intact. How did you do it?’  
  
‘I distilled out the combined ingredient and then added new crushed berries to the potion from my supply,’ Hermione said. She didn’t think it was that big a deal. ‘I never split the ingredients, so I didn’t manage that.’  
  
‘Ah,’ Tom said, smiling brightly, ‘that means you had to overcome the problem of the boiling points of the other ingredients being the same as the compound’s. It’s not textbook material either.’  
  
‘Not my idea,’ Hermione said quickly. ‘I’ve seen Professor …’ –crap, mentioning Snape’s name probably wasn’t a good idea– ‘my potions teacher do something similar to Veritaserum once.’  _When he was supplying Umbridge with the faulty draught to keep Harry safe,_ she finished mentally, also deeming that bit better left unsaid.  
  
Tom smirked at her obvious avoidance. ‘Definitely not Slughorn,’ he said, sniggering condescendingly.  
  
‘Professor Slughorn is a fine teacher and potions brewer,’ Hermione said defensively, crossing her arms.  
  
‘Suuuure,’ Tom snorted, ‘as long as he doesn’t have to do something at a pinch or has to be creative. Slughorn has always been a stickler to recipes. Must be why you love him so much, Granger. He, too, is a letter of the text follower.’  
  
Hermione scowled. ‘If  **he**  is  _soooo_  stupid, why did  **he**  have to supply  **you**  with the answer to your immortality–’  
  
Shocked, she slapped her lips together, not daring to finish that sentence since Tom’s face had gone to that blank mask in a flash.  
  
 _Me and my big mouth, I’d been better off mentioning Snape than this._  
  
To her horror, he moved forward. Her eyes wide, Hermione leaned back to somewhat keep her distance, merely achieving that he now towered over her half-lying form on the bed – his hands positioned on either side of her. She swallowed. Merlin, he was close. She could feel the heat radiating off his body. Her heart started pounding in her chest and her mouth went dry. Subconsciously, she licked her lips as his eyes flickered over her face. His previous threat of punishment was suddenly at the forefront of her mind, and she wished he would close the distance between them.  
  
What did she have to do to get him to touch her already? He’d been in this cell, alone, for more than four years with no female companionship whatsoever, beside her. And the way he’d talked to her, had treated her, well, she’d thought he was interested. Had she been mistaken? Was she that undesirable to him? Was it her blood status that kept him at bay or something else?  
  
Maybe he found her ugly? Stupid? A blabbermouth? Unworthy? A silly Gryffindor?  
  
Or maybe he was gay? He did have a lot of male followers after all.  
  
Her mind’s ideas depressed her. By Godric, she needed a good shag, and it was obviously not happening. Discouraged, she met his dark gaze again and held her breath at the feral lust that shone in them.  
  
Then again, maybe it would?    
  
Yet, he wasn’t moving. Perhaps she should take the initiative?  
  
But she didn’t want to. She had already done that with Ron. She didn’t want to now. Not with Tom Marvolo Riddle. She shouldn’t have to with  _him_. Not with Lord Voldemort. She wanted to be conquered, swept off her feet, taken by him at his convenience. Ravaged.

Blood pounded into her nether regions, and she felt herself getting wet from her thoughts and his gaze alone.  
  
‘Please,’ she whispered barely audibly.  
  
His breathing turned heavy and a peculiar glint flashed in his eyes. Pleasure radiated off him in waves. And for a brief second, when he leaned in, she thought it would happen. His lips were but a fraction away from her ear as he whispered, ever so quietly, ever so softly and oh so temptingly:  
  
‘Horace, being ever vain, self-absorbed and overly worried about the sake of appearances, was the only professor who I was sure wouldn’t report me immediately to the authorities. I knew he’d be too concerned about it tarnishing his image – a top student coming to him for such horrific information, the world might be thinking he dabbled in the Arts all the time. He’d never survive the blemish on his oh so valued reputation. Can you imagine what he could’ve prevented if he’d just opened his mouth back then?’  
  
And then, he moved back. Cold. Distant. Smug.  
  
Hermione had to recover from the weird discrepancy between the vicious meaning of his words and the sensual tone of voice he’d spoken them in. It was like her brain couldn’t comprehend the duplicity and her emotions went all over the place.    
  
‘Now, let us focus on expanding your magical knowledge of Arithmancy. There is so much you still need to learn,’ he said, utterly detached and seemingly unaffected by what had just happened.  
  
Hermione felt an overwhelming need to smack him right there and then. Utterly frustrated, she sat back up and was hardly able to concentrate as Tom Riddle talked about her favourite subject back at Hogwarts. When he was finished, and she finally walked out, she was on the verge of exploding.  
  
That – that – that … no, not foul enough. And that word wasn’t it either. Hermione sighed. She had to make up a new coarse word just to describe him. A really despicable one. Something unmatched by anything else.  
  
Grumbling, she stomped up the stairs. She wanted revenge. She wanted to unsettle him. She wanted him to bloody shag her already. Her mood darkened and darkened as she got closer and closer to the top of the staircase and daylight greeted her. The idea struck her as she passed the guard, not noticing how uncomfortable she made him as her expression turned from fury to vengeful delight.  
  
 _‘In return for this no touching rule, you will not share the information I give you with anyone.’_  
  
Tonight, Hermione was inviting her parents over for dinner.

xxx

 

It was a wonderful evening. Hermione had gone all out in her dinner preparations and made them six courses of delicious homemade food. Ron’s face hadn’t stopped smiling as he dug in and tuned out of the conversation once Hermione had started going on about Arithmancy – a subject he’d never taken and knew diddlysquat of.  
  
Her parents, however, were incredibly interested in learning about this theory one of her “co-workers” had developed, especially her mother, who’d majored in Mathematics before becoming a dentist later in life. She had a thousand relevant comments and questions. To Hermione’s mother, Arithmancy reminded her of Pythagoras’s worldview: All relations can be expressed as number relations. She even made a valid comparison between Voldemort’s theory and book ten of Euclid’s Elements, concerning Eudoxus’s theory of irrational numbers. Hermione couldn’t resist smirking as she envisioned the Dark Lord’s face upon this news.  
  
It became very late before her parents reluctantly left and kissed her and Ron goodbye, imploring them to come visit soon. Her mother even promised to bake her famous apple crumble pie then, which made Ron’s face light up. Hermione let out a satisfied sigh when the door closed. Finally, she’d get Riddle to act. She’d given him the perfect excuse to touch her. She’d broken his number one rule. She’d told. Cheerfully, she turned on her heels and went to bed, looking forward to the next day.

xxx

 

For the second time that morning Tom Riddle brushed his teeth with a disgusted scowl on his face. His breakfast had been a “delight” as always: a foul, chunk-filled, lukewarm porridge (that reminded him of the orphanage) and peanut butter-and-jelly sandwiches! Food for brats. The day he’d leave this stinking facility (one hundred and eighty-four days, fourteen hours, fifty-seven minutes and fifteen seconds counting) he would find the person responsible for his meals and show them Lord Voldemort’s gratitude. Up close and personal.  
  
He didn’t care that he didn’t have to eat the shitty stuff most of the time anymore since Hermione often brought him the most delicious home-cooked meals, hidden in a container in that bottomless pocket of her jacket. No, her generosity surely didn’t spread to him. He’d get that no good excuse of a “cook” and toss said “chef” in the flaming pits of hell permanently. Perhaps he could make a porridge out of the moron? There were some really “wonderful” spells that could turn a person’s insides slowly into mush. Hmmm… he had to consider it, weigh his options and pick the most fitting punishment. He still had time.  
  
Tom gargled extensively with the toothpaste filled water before spitting it out and drying his mouth with a sigh. Much better. At least he was rid of the taste now. Strolling back to his bed, he checked his watch: a minute past nine o’clock. Hermione was late. Very unlike her. She was incredibly punctual, a trait he valued in others.  
  
The door swung open behind him, and he smirked at his previous thought. There she was. He knew she wouldn’t keep him waiting. His previous dark mood evaporated upon hearing her warm greeting, and he turned around to send her a congenial smile. Immediately, he noticed her behaviour was off. She was always excited and flushed when she entered, but now there was something else visible, too: A slight aura of triumph and deviousness hung around her.  
  
Lord Voldemort had to admit the girl never ceased to amaze him. Her quick wit and fast thinking had put him on his toes several times, unlike any other ever had. And now this aura … it suited her, though. Still, he had the distinct feeling it was aimed at him and  **that**  he could not allow.  
  
Besides, how was it possible? After yesterday? He’d been so delighted with the frustration she’d been unable to hide as she’d left. It showed exactly how much progress he’d already made with the little witch. But how had she turned that frustration to this wickedly victorious mood? What had he missed, or worse, miscalculated?  
  
His schooled face was able to hide his feelings of puzzlement and concern while his mind quickly went over what could’ve possibly triggered this behaviour in her. Coming up with nothing, he waited. She was a Gryffindor after all, and even though she was incredibly secretive for that boisterous House, she was bound to blurt out what was on her mind soon. He could tell by the way she almost bounced on her feet.  Someone clearly was happy and obviously at his expense if that smug expression was anything to go by.  
  
 _Well, come on then, Hermione, don’t keep Lord Voldemort waiting._  
  
‘My mum found your Arithmancy theory extremely interesting,’ Hermione said bluntly, placing her hands on her sides.  
  
 _Her mum? She told her mum?_ He frowned.  _Why?_  
  
 _Oooh, their deal. He’d be able to touch her if she told someone against his wishes. Clever girl._  
  
‘Ron, of course, was too busy stuffing his mouth full with food to understand the merits, but Dad appreciated it as well.’  
  
 _She told more than one person? Pushing your luck, Hermione? Forgot that my terms entailed you’d reimburse me in whatever way **I** desire?_  
  
Still, two Muggles and a moron hardly constituted “informing” another of his theories. Perhaps Lord Voldemort could be the merciful man that he was and let it slide this time? He smirked, envisioning her frustration if he’d go for that solution. She’d likely explode.  
  
‘Not as much as Mum though. She has a PhD in Mathematics, and she’s always been interested in my Arithmancy textbooks. She’s shown me many times the similarities and differences between the two subjects. It’s really interesting, don’t you think?’  
  
She even tilted her head daringly at delivering that last taunt. 

So, she told someone who understood the theory and was even able to hold a meaningful debate about it. Well, that meant his previous merciful solution was impossible. He couldn’t say that it didn’t matter because nobody had understood it now. And he sure as hell wasn’t planning to grant her wish and reward her insolent behaviour by fucking her. Oh no.  
  
 _All in due time, Hermione dear, all in due time. My time. My rules. My terms. When you’re so far gone, you won’t even consider regretting it afterwards._  
  
No, if she thought she’d won now, she’d be in for a huge surprise.  
  
‘Well?’ Hermione asked, sounding a tad impatient.  
  
‘Well what?’ he countered mildly. He could tell it annoyed her that he wasn’t giving more of a reaction. Good.  
  
‘Shouldn’t you tell me now how you’d weigh my decision to share?’ she asked in an overly sweet tone.  
  
His temper flared inside, only outwards he showed nothing but kindness. At the moment.  
  
‘I’m waiting for the explanation,’ he replied, copying her overly sweet tone to the minute detail.  
  
She shrugged, tossing her hands in the air casually. ‘Because I felt like it. Because I could.’  
  
“Because you didn’t shag me yesterday” hung unspoken in the air around them.  
  
‘I see,’ Tom said slowly. ‘And you really are wondering if I’d be okay with those reasons, Ms Granger?’ he added darkly, taking a step towards her. ‘You really need me to tell you out loud what I think of that?’  
  
He raised an eyebrow questioningly as he took another step towards her now still form. So deliciously receptive, she was. He marvelled at how he’d changed her demeanour almost instantly with his words, his tone of voice and behaviour.  
  
‘Or would you happen to know exactly what my answer would be to that?’ He stopped right in front of her, forcing her to crane her neck to meet his eyes. ‘Answer me,  _Hermione._ ’  
  
She swallowed lightly, but it didn’t go unnoticed by him.  
  
 _Oh yes, my little Mudblood, it’s something to consider disobeying Lord Voldemort out of his reach, but another thing altogether to tell him to his face._  
  
‘I figured you’d say no,’ she said with a nonchalant shrug, ‘but I did it anyway.’ Here, she smirked at him, and as such, punctured his self-important power balloon.  
  
 _Bloody Gryffindors._  
  
‘I just couldn’t care about the consequences,’ she added, tilting her head slightly as her smirk turned into a happy smile.  
  
Now it was his turn to smirk. ‘You’re going to care, Hermione,’ he said barely above a whisper and he cupped her cheek.  
  
He’d been wanting to touch her for ages ever since that first time when he’d had her trapped up against the wall. This small window of opportunity he wasn’t going to miss. Hermione closed her eyes and let out a deep sigh, obviously savouring the moment. She could have this brief illusion of victory. This was all she would get for now. He stroked her soft cheek with his thumb gently.  
  
‘Frankly,’ he added, ‘I am surprised you’d make such a huge error. Just because your demand contained I couldn’t touch you, doesn’t mean I have to after you broke your word. Such an otherwise smart woman should realise that …’ he paused, changing his tone to cold and commanding, ‘there is no way I am going to reward such blatant disobedience by taking you.’  
  
He stepped back abruptly. To his sincere satisfaction, her eyes snapped open, uneasy.  
  
‘No,’ he continued with vicious glee, ‘I think this will be an extremely pleasurable hour for  **me**.’ Calmly, he sat down on the table. ‘Strip.’  
  
Hermione blinked, uncomfortable.  
  
 _Perfect, he knew just how to make that worse._  
  
‘Now,’ he demanded; his legs widespread, he leaned forward, propping his head on his hand while resting his elbow on his knee to show her she had his full attention. ‘And make it good. I like to sample the wares before buying.’  
  
‘Sample your own wares,’ she bit back.  
  
‘Going back on our deal?’ Tom asked, his face turning positively delighted in malicious joy. ‘You’re sure you dare?’ he added in a low, threatening voice.  
  
Hermione narrowed her eyes at him, making him chuckle.  
  
‘There is something to dare?’ she mocked, stopping his gleeful laughter at her expense abruptly.  
  
He shrugged – his blank mask firmly back in place. ‘Oh, I don’t know …’ he replied seemingly innocently, ‘you still haven’t mastered all the intricate wand-moves out of Jonesy’s Grimoire. It would be a shame if you never get to hear the final part.’  
  
He leaned back expectantly, feeling positively victorious already. She wasn’t going to deny him now. The horror of never getting the information would grate on her nerves forever.  
  
Herface turned beet red in what he assumed was a mixture of anger and embarrassment. Nonetheless, she began unbuttoning her blouse, though her eyes were studiously avoiding him. That just wouldn’t do.  
  
‘Look at me while you undress,’ he ordered.  
  
Hermione bit her lip and moved her head up, her fingers fiddling with a stubborn button as she met his eyes.  
  
‘Come on, Granger, don’t stand there like a pole. Surely, you’re aware strippers move to music?’  
  
‘There is no music here,’ she countered, her blouse falling open after she undid the last button.  
  
‘Pretend there is,’ he said, his eyes raking over what little he could see at the moment. ‘Nice bra,’ he complimented as she reluctantly swayed a bit while undoing the buttons on her sleeves’ cuffs. ‘Such a sweet, innocent colour lace. I’d be happy to see it go.’  
  
‘It’s a white blouse. Wearing a bright colour bra underneath it is just tacky,’ Hermione objected, slowly lowering the blouse off her shoulders and finally holding it in her hand, not quite knowing what to do with it now. She didn’t want to just dump it on the floor. Like she’d said before, it was white and therefore tremendously susceptible to stains.  
  
Tom held out his hand. ‘I’ll take that,’ he said, smirking anticipatorily.  
  
Slowly, Hermione approached him and handed him her blouse. He draped it over his arm and then gestured for her to continue. Pretty soon, he had quite a stash of her clothes there, which was conveniently obscuring the bulge that had formed in his trousers. Well, he hadn’t seen a nude woman in years, and she was a pretty little thing. Besides, he liked his women petite. He looked up at her face. She’d stopped moving when she was done undressing and it was obvious to him she was incredibly self-conscious about standing there, naked, not knowing what to expect or what to do. He could tell by the slight twitch in her arms that she had to restrain herself from covering her body up. So incredibly vulnerable. That certainly got his blood pumping. Lovely.  
  
His eyes raked over her body. Nice breasts and all. Not too skinny either. Though, he had to cure her of leaving all that pubic hair unshaven. He preferred to have unrestricted view on his properties and he sure as hell wasn’t going down on a field like that. Hermione shuffled nervously on her feet. She clearly was on the verge of grabbing her clothes and running out. Briefly, he wondered if she was equally uncomfortable showing her body to the idiot she’d married. Anger rushed through him at the idea of someone beside him touching her. Visions of Ron Weasley thrashing and writhing under his wand danced merrily through his mind’s eye when he got distracted by the sudden movement of Hermione taking a step back and reaching for the nearest towel.  
  
‘Stop,’ he barked, freezing her in position.  
  
Cautiously, she lowered her arm. Her brown eyes stared at him fearfully, and he frowned, confused for a second as to why she suddenly seemed scared. He’d not threatened her.  
  
Blast. He must’ve expressed his feelings about that insipid redhead to her subconsciously. What was the matter with him? He could keep his temper under control better than this, and he certainly could obscure his expression from showing his emotions.  
  
‘I didn’t tell you to go cover yourself up,’ he said, gazing at her with his blank façade firmly back in place, ‘and we’re only ten minutes into the hour where you will do whatever I desire, Hermione.’  
  
‘I know,’ she said in a small voice.  
  
Great, now he had completely spoiled the mood.  
  
‘My anger just now wasn’t aimed at you,’ he added, as comfortingly as he could manage.  
  
She still seemed doubtful to him. Well, she was the only one here, and she knew he was an expert liar. It made sense to doubt. However, her buttons were easy to push, so he knew just what to do. His eyes gained a mischievous glint and he smirked ever so slightly as he drew a hand through his black locks, satisfied at noticing how her eyes followed his gesture longingly. Women. So predictable when it came down to his looks, especially his hair. The broads he’d dated during his Hogwarts years were never able to keep their hands out of it either. It had taken him quite some effort and hard spellwork to make sure they didn’t get to keep a single strand afterwards. Eh, he knew above anyone else the undesirable things one could do with only a little bit of someone’s body, and he’d never desired to follow one of those dim-witted witches around like a lovesick puppy. Fortunately, the witch standing before him right now was anything but dim-witted.  
  
‘I am never angry at such a …’ he paused, his eyes raking over her body once more, ‘delectable display of … items.’  
  
The suggestive look he sent her with his words seemed to trigger her. Instead of fear, her previous embarrassment reared its ugly head again. He reckoned she’d not often heard praises about her looks. He almost shook his head at the ignorance of the blokes around her. Just because she was smart didn’t mean she wasn’t a girl and didn’t want to be acknowledged as such. Every woman liked to be told they were beautiful. And he didn’t see any reason for the delicious one standing before him to feel any shame about her body.    
  
However, her insecurity and discomfort did suit him at the moment. He enjoyed her reactions when she was unsettled and unsure like that around him. She had a tendency to surprise him. Besides, she flushed so easily, and apparently, he noted now, it wasn’t restricted to her face.  
  
‘Turn around. Slowly,’ he ordered coolly, wondering if she could get any redder. ‘Let’s see if your bum is of equal quality.’  
  
The answer was “yes” to both questions.  
  
‘Nice backside, Granger,’ he complimented teasingly. ‘Ho, ho, wait,’ he ordered when she was about to move on. ‘Lift your hair; I can’t see half of your back, doll.’  
  
She complied, and noticing how tense she held her muscles, he just couldn’t resist. ‘Hmmm… definitely an “Exceeds Expectations”.’  
  
Her shoulders dropped in annoyance as she exhaled deeply. Perhaps he should’ve kept a more appropriately secured distance between them? You never knew with her – she did have a tendency to get physically violent, and he did value his private parts. Abruptly, she dropped her hair and turned around, glaring at him.  
  
‘Are you done making fun of me?’  
  
Like he’d thought, when she’d received compliments in the past, they’d most likely been backhanded insults – comments along the line of “Wow, you look good in makeup” stating how badly you looked normally, or the kicker “You look great today. Did you lose weight?”  
  
He shook his head, smiling benevolently at her as he sensed the coast was clear to proceed. After all, if she’d wanted to kick him in the nuts, she would’ve done it already.    
  
‘This is just the beginning, Hermione,’ he said sibilantly, rising to his feet. He kept her clothes neatly folded over his arm in order to maintain his privacy as he stalked around her. ‘And I never make fun of,’ he paused beside her, breathing the next words against her cheek, ‘someone with such suitably desirable attributes. I am dead serious, dear. You might have got an “Outstanding” if that forest was suitably trimmed.’  
  
His hand flashed and grabbed her between her legs harshly. As he roamed his fingers roughly through her pubic hair, he noted with pleasure how moist she was. Apparently, his comments had aroused her. Perhaps, he’d overestimated her embarrassment? She clearly was enjoying this on some level. Perfect. That would save him so much time and annoyance in training her.  
  
Keeping his eyes locked with hers, he leaned towards her mouth and whispered darkly, ‘Next time I see you  ** _this_** ’ –his fingers squeezed around her pubic bone– ‘better be as smooth as silk, dear. Or I’ll remove it for you, and as you can see,’ –there was flash of disappointed in her face as he removed his hand and gestured to the shelf– ‘my equipment is rather rudimentary. You’ll lose more than hair if I have to do it. I think it’s safe to say you will become a  _bloody_  mess then. Is that clear?’  
  
She quietly nodded. Obedient. Just like he wanted her to be. There was nothing more thrilling than subduing someone as clever and feisty as her. Time to up the ante. She was ready for it. He could tell.  
  
Slowly, he strolled around her, his fingers trailing over her bare flesh, titillating her skin, while his other arm placed her clothes on the sink behind her. When he was on his second turn, he held out her blouse for her. Confused, she looked at him at first, but he didn’t need to say it. She quickly caught on and placed her arm in the sleeve. When both her arms were in, he yanked her back against his front and started buttoning up her blouse silently. She twitched when his fingers came in contact with her breasts and her breathing had turned ragged. He could feel her press her body against his, which caused a vicious smirk to appear on his handsome face. Stroking the fabric straight, he finally cupped her breasts and massaged them through her blouse.  
  
‘Much better,’ he breathed into her ear, while he worked her nipples into hard peaks, ‘you will not be wearing any brassieres from hereon. If you feel too exposed outside of my presence, you may wear something over your shirt like a jumper or whatever, but in here, you’ll make sure to display your goods to me.’ He squeezed her breasts before moving away. When he arrived back in front of her, he had her trousers in his hands.  
  
‘Lift your leg,’ he ordered while getting on one knee in front of her.  
  
‘What about my knickers?’ Hermione asked, looking down wide-eyed.  
  
‘You won’t be needing them anymore. If I ever see you in knickers again, I’ll spank you so hard you won’t be able to sit for a week.’  
  
‘What?’ she blurted out, shocked.  
  
For a moment, he thought she was upset about his suggestion to spank her, but to his delight, her next words showed it hadn’t been the trigger to her shock.  
  
‘I – I can’t walk around without my underwear on.’  
  
‘Don’t test my patience, Granger, or I will confiscate your trousers, too, and you can go home in your blouse and shoes. I am sure the guards will enjoy the show.’  
  
He just loved the glare she sent his way while she lifted her leg and grudgingly let him help her inside her trousers. He took expert care in caressing her skin as he moved the trousers up her leg, enjoying how she tried to not respond to his touch and failed miserably. He knew it would be uncomfortable to wear jeans without underwear, but he really didn’t care as he zipped her up.  
  
‘No more trousers, too,’ he said, taking a hold of her hips. ‘I want this,’ he squeezed her buttocks, ‘in a skirt, be that wide or tight fitting. However,’ keeping a firm grip on the outside of her thighs, his hands slowly moved down to her knees, ‘your skirts won’t go below your knees. I like to see some leg.’ His fingers curled around her knees, moving to the inside of her thighs as he moved back up again. Hermione twisted when he grabbed a hold of her core and rubbed the hard fabric against her teasingly. ‘Do you like this, witch?’ he hissed.  
  
A soft moan was her reply and he chuckled viciously. ‘Too bad you weren’t properly dressed then.’  
  
He stepped away, ignoring her disappointed groan, and collected her socks and sensible flat shoes, holding them in front of her with a disgusted scowl.  
  
‘This won’t do either, Granger. You’ve got pretty legs, so put them in some nice stockings and heels. I’ve seen you walk quite adequately in them before. There is no excuse for this horrific footwear dulling my presence.’  
  
Then, he dumped them at her feet and turned away, ordering her to leave.  
  
Not sure what to do, Hermione stared at his back, biting her lip. Was she supposed to put them on now or did he expect her to go barefoot? He obviously didn’t like it if she wore them around him, so she opted on putting them on outside of his cell. Picking up her socks and shoes, she darted to her jacket, glancing at her bra and underwear still lying on the sink. How was he going to explain them being here? Merlin, looking those guards in the eye would become a serious issue now. Nervously, she grabbed her jacket and turned around to say goodbye. Her whole body started glowing in warmth when she noticed how pleased he was watching her. He’d clearly liked her choice to go barefoot. A broad smile erupted on her face.  
  
‘Till tomorrow,’ she said cheerfully.  
  
‘I look forward to tomorrow, Ms Granger,’ he replied warmly.   
  
 _I have after all not used my whole hour on you yet._

xxx


	5. Problems and Major Dissatisfaction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to my betas: Serpent In Red and Cosettex.

**The Prisoner**  
  
 **Chapter 5: Problems and Major Dissatisfaction**  
  
Furrowing her brow, Hermione concentrated again on the three objects in front of her on the table: a comb, a potted plant, and a cup. This time it was going to work. Multiple-to-One Transfiguration was in itself a complicated subject. Doing it with items that were unrelated to each other and the wanted outcome was deemed impossible. However, according to Riddle, that was nonsense if your skill at Transfiguration was sufficient. You only needed to focus your magic on what you wanted in the end. And she really wanted an owl now since she lost track of how many times she’d failed already.  
  
With another flick of her wrist, she cast. The cup flew into the air, landing on top of the potted plant that had started flapping its leaves. Leaves turned into feathers, surrounding the smooth surface of the cup that twisted and turned, changing colours, until two big eyes remained and a beak. A loud hoot welcomed her. Satisfied, Hermione looked at the perfect specimen in front of her. She did it. Finally, she’d transfigured an owl out of …  
  
Her eyes fell on the comb lying next to the owl that was hopping on the table in excitement. The comb seemed to mock her performance with its silent and unmoving presence.  
  
‘AAAH!’ she yelled in frustration and blasted it to pieces.  
  
Making hooting noises of clear objection as several feathers came off its newly formed wings, the owl flew up in the air when the force of Hermione’s Blasting Charm took the table along with the comb. A million miniscule pieces smashed into the wall.  
  
‘Don’t we need that table to eat on?’  
  
Ron’s voice took her by surprise and she turned around, watching him duck as the owl fluttered around the tiny room before fleeing the scene through the chimney.  
  
‘Great, now it escaped,’ Hermione muttered, whipping her wand absentmindedly at the debris behind her back. It swirled through the air, gathering together. ‘I still have work to do here.’  
  
‘Aah,’ Ron whined, ‘can’t you take one evening off?’  
  
‘Nope, this is important.’  
  
Ron grumbled something underneath his breath about McGregor being a slave driver and Harry being a far better boss who understood people had private lives, too – all of which Hermione ignored. She didn’t want to start an argument that would take time away from her casting.  
  
‘Besides, I figured you’d want to eat in front of the telly,’ she added airily. ‘Your favourite show is on.’  
  
Ron’s eyes brightened at that news. Satisfied he was suitably distracted, Hermione turned back to her reformed table. One of the legs was dangling at an odd angle, and she fixed that with a flick of her wand. Where was the comb? Her eyes scanned the ground. It should’ve mended back together with the table, but it appeared to be hiding from her instead.  
  
‘Accio comb!’  
  
Satisfied, she caught the reluctant object and placed it back from where it came.  
  
‘Where is the lasagne?’ Ron asked with his head almost fully inside the fridge.  
  
‘I got Chinese take-out,’ Hermione replied, summoning another cup and a new plant.  
  
‘But you made lasagne last night and–’  
  
‘I burned it upon reheating,’ she interrupted, lying through her teeth. ‘I forgot I had it in the oven.’  
  
‘Oh,’ Ron said, sounding disappointed as he now checked through the cartons for their contents. ‘Brought any Kung Pao Chicken?’  
  
‘Should be there, somewhere,’ Hermione replied offhandedly.  
  
She was concentrating on her transfiguration again. She’d been too busy at work to practise there, and she had to get it done before tomorrow. Surely her Transfiguration skills were at least “sufficient”. She’d received an Outstanding for it on her N.E.W.T. for crying out loud.  
  
For the rest of that evening, Hermione kept practising, occasionally cheering to herself whenever she succeeded. Ron was transfixed in front of the television screen, occasionally muttering comments to himself about the programme or how his father would’ve liked to watch this. Hermione had been unable to get a television functioning in the Burrow. Something about the magic holding the house up had made it impossible for his wife to get a clear signal without possibly disturbing the structural integrity of the Burrow. From the excited curiosity on Arthur’s face, Ron was sure his father would’ve told Hermione to go for it –house be damned– if his mother hadn’t been there. Arthur had been  _that_  intrigued that Muggles had invented a radio with pictures powered by “elektriek”.  
  
‘Shall we go to the Burrow tomorrow?’ Ron asked, chewing on a potato chip.  
  
‘Uhmm-umm,’ Hermione replied, adding a wine glass to the pile she planned to transfigure into a golden retriever.  
  
Taking that as a yes, Ron rubbed his hands together in anticipation of his mother’s cooking.  
  
Blocking out the ambulant, irrelevant noises around her, Hermione gradually increased the number of items she was transfiguring until she could perform the multiple-to-one Transfiguration with her eyes closed and with as many objects as she desired. Satisfied, she flicked her wrist and the huge pile on the table swirled around the air in a dark vortex until a single rose petal glided down on the table. Smiling brightly, she whipped her wand again and the petal duplicated itself so rapidly it was like a fountain of rose petals sprang from the table. The petals twisted and curled in mid-air and changed back to their original forms. With another flick of her wand, Hermione sent them all back to their respective places in the flat. She had fully mastered the complex spell after only a couple of hours.  
  
Time to go to sleep. She had an early rise tomorrow.  
  


xxx

  


She would’ve felt self-conscious about the clothes she was wearing entering his cell had it not been for the emergency assignment that McGregor had dumped on her lap, taking some of her attention away. Not that she was uncomfortable wearing skirts, she wore them a lot – only with underwear. It felt exciting, forbidden to go without it, and it had been even more exciting to witness the approval in his expression. But she had decided to limit her compliance to his clothing demands to his presence – there was no way he could check upon her full compliance anyway.

Hermione stretched out her arms above her head. They were sitting next to each other on the bed as usual while Tom was going through the top secret Unspeakable file in his hand and she voiced her concerns.

‘It’s weird. The Bell Jar in the Time Chamber suddenly stopped functioning properly. The hummingbird is only getting older and older. You should see the state of its feathers.’ She shivered. ‘It was supposed to be on its way back to becoming an egg again twenty-two hours ago. If we can’t find what’s wrong with it, it’s going to die soon.’

‘Maybe,’ Tom muttered, scratching his neck.

‘Maybe?’ Hermione questioned, leaning forward to get a glimpse of his expression. She felt he was acting weird all of the sudden.

‘If it was supposed to be at the end of its lifespan twenty-two hours ago and it didn’t die then, I doubt it will die at all,’ he explained, frowning at the papers in hand.

‘That’s even worse,’ she said. When he arched an eyebrow at her, she added, ‘Not everyone shares your immortality obsession.’

His mouth opened, but then, he shook his head as if deciding against it. ‘The hummingbird in the Bell Jar is a magicked creature. It won’t act as real life beings would.’ His eyes scanned through the file rapidly.

‘The hummingbird was Morgana’s creation. It’s a historic artefact of unprecedented value and … oh.’

She slapped her hand in front of her mouth in realisation.

_A historic artefact of unprecedented value! Oh Merlin, no, I’m going to throttle him._

Slowly, Hermione narrowed her eyes at the person sitting next to her. She had a rather astute idea. After all, a certain someone had rather oddly got his young body back and hadn’t died when he should have. She watched how Tom Riddle was no longer flipping the pages and immediately knew she was right. His face was set too blank and too innocent.

‘You,’ she hissed.

He smirked smugly, dropping the act.

‘You,’ she repeated, aghast. ‘What is it with you and destroying priceless artefacts? Do you have any idea what that Bell Jar was worth before you tampered with it?’

He shrugged. ‘It was only a showy display on Morgana’s Time-Turner Theory, Granger, nothing more. Besides, I never quite understood why you lot thought I only relied on Horcruxes, especially since I informed Potter I had gone further along the path that leads to immortality than any other wizard before me when I resurrected into my old self. In my elation, I recall “one or more of my experiments” slipping from my tongue.’ For a second he looked at his body satisfied. ‘But I suppose the boy had other things on his mind at the time. I daresay this worked better than I thought it would. But it can’t be just me or the Bell Jar would’ve malfunctioned immediately.’

‘How do you know?’ she said, growling frustrated. ‘Maybe it took this long to reach a certain threshold?’

‘Mmm…’ Tom pondered, ‘maybe.’

But she could tell by the tone of his voice that he didn’t find it a likely explanation.

‘What did you do to it?’

‘Extracted one particle of the temporal wind inside.’ He shook his head again. ‘It doesn’t make sense. One particle shouldn’t have had this much effect.’

Demonstratively, Hermione stared at his body, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

‘On the hummingbird,’ he snarled. ‘Besides, I used the particle in an extensive Dark Arts ritual. It’s not solely responsible for this body.’

‘But it was the primary ingredient of the ritual,’ Hermione countered, sure of that and curious now.

Tom considered her. ‘Yes,’ he said approvingly, ‘and if you want to know, I’ll explain the entire ritual to you once you’re ready to understand the theory behind it. However, there is no use going into the ritual I performed now since it doesn’t bear relevance on what is happening to the hummingbird. There has to be another reason it is no longer turning young again. I nicked the particle in the late fifties.’

‘But you only resurrected due to it a couple of years ago.’

‘If that was the tipping point, the hummingbird should’ve started malfunctioning the moment the particle was activated to resurrect me,’ he countered. ‘No, there is something we’re missing.’

‘Besides a particle?’ Hermione joked.

‘Besides that,’ Tom replied, pausing to look at her before he leaned in. ‘But you’re not that upset I used that particle to regain this body, are you?’

‘Arrogant arse.’

‘That’s not a denial,’ he teased lightly, turning his attention back to the file.  ‘It might be those tests the department heads keep insisting on. For every test, the Unspeakable in question has to withdraw a few particles to check their functioning status, and for as far as I can tell, nobody checked to see the effect it had to restore the particles after testing or even if all particles were restored every time. They didn’t keep a very accurate database.’

 _Suuuure, someone else is to blame. What else is new? It couldn’t possibly be your doing,_ Hermione thought snidely, while Tom continued to talk and scribble down things he deemed were important.

Soon, he had a long list and began computing the evidence. Hermione looked over his shoulder, pointing out things he’d missed or things she felt were completely irrelevant. In the end, they agreed it had to be the multiple taking of particles (at which Hermione had pointedly looked at him) and the altered state in which they were returned to the Bell Jar (at which Tom had mimicked her expression with an added edge of smug triumph to it since he’d not returned anything). Hermione had tiresomely shaken her head at him. However, they’d proven that taking the particles from the confinement of the jar had to have a miniscule effect on their state of being. That little change then caused their effect on the hummingbird to be drastically altered after enough particles were removed and returned.

‘This is not good,’ Hermione said, sighing, while Tom’s eyes ran over the information again. ‘It will be impossible to determine which particles are wrong from outside the Bell Jar and taking them all from the jar will automatically lead to every single one of them changing. If only Morgana had left some documentation on how she created it, we could simply restore the particles for new ones. But without the information, we’ll never get–’

‘Brilliant,’ Tom interrupted, immediately starting to write something down.

‘What?’ Hermione asked, confused. ‘What did I say? What are you calculating there?’

‘Shush, let me think.’ More lines quickly appeared on the paper. ‘Yes, that might work. If we can just figure out the right amount. Hmm…’

Frowning, Hermione watched what he was writing down, but she couldn’t make heads or tails from it.  He was using too many magical subjects through one another. Several times, her mind sputtered in protest when she was sure he added things that weren’t supposed to be added together at all. She barely was able to stop her automatic reflex to correct him as she’d done many times when she noticed Harry or Ron write down something wrong. However, she had an inkling this time she’d be the one in the wrong, so she bit her lip. Grudgingly.

_Merlin, he didn’t just combine the two opposing Laws of Baba Yaga together. That’s a big no-no._

Shifting uncomfortably, Hermione had a hard time keeping her cool. She froze when a warm hand touched her knee and moved up to squeeze her thigh underneath her skirt comfortingly.

‘On the verge of exploding already?’ Riddle asked, humour lacing his tone of voice as he turned away from his writing and looked at her. ‘If you need to rant for a moment, I can wait.’

Instead of opting for that, she decided to go for the other issue that had risen. ‘You’re touching me.’

‘So I am,’ he said, smirking and not removing his hand at all. ‘We never finished that hour in which you would repay me fully, Hermione.’

She blinked. She’d not checked the time yesterday. Damn. Sneaky snake. ‘Oh.’

‘Oh indeed,’ he replied, chuckling and turning back to his notes while his fingers briefly danced over the inside of her thigh, making her twitch in reaction.

‘How much time is left?’ she asked hoarsely.

‘You don’t know?’ he teased, giving her thigh another squeeze.

‘I wouldn’t ask if I did.’

His pen scratched through one of his previous assumptions, replacing it with a different number.

‘And why is it my responsibility to let you know?’ he asked, not removing his eyes from the paper he was working on. ‘I thought you’d already learned how to tell time.’

Hermione’s expression darkened.

‘No, I think I won’t inform you. It’s better if you learn your lesson the hard way, Hermione. Now stop disturbing me. I almost got this figured out. The sooner I am done, the more time there is left for …  _other activities_ ,’ he added suggestively.

A sharp intake of air and the sudden tension in her muscles were the most telling reactions she had, but she couldn’t deny how her heart skipped a beat before fluttering like crazy and how her inner temperature seemed to rise significantly. A part of her wanted to pummel him to death for being him and another part wanted to grab the front of his shirt and snog his brains out. Realising both options wouldn’t get the desired result, she stayed still, reading what he wrote down while enjoying the “cared for” feeling his hand on her thigh evoked – surrendering to his possessiveness. To be owned was so relaxing, calming, she wanted to cherish the moment, especially since her rational mind knew it wouldn’t last forever. Soon, she’d be out there, back in the real world, with real life obligations. But it was nice to let go once in a while.

Suddenly, he leaned back, staring at his solution. ‘What do you think?’

‘Ermmm…’ She scooted forward to reach for the papers, brushing against his leg in the process.  His fingertips stroked her sensitive skin softly. Trying not to react to his excellent attentions, she failed miserably by squirming a bit. Her wide skirt had ridden up to only barely cover her private parts, which felt all the more exciting since she wasn’t wearing any underwear. Soon, Hermione realised he went out of his way to distract her attention away from his work. She shifted her weight from one buttock to the other in reflex, and from the corner of her eye, she noticed this turned his expression beyond pleased. Almost letting out a relieved breath when she finished reading, she opened her mouth to comment on it.

Swiftly, one arm slid underneath both her legs and the other snaked behind her back. He lifted her legs up, turned her a quart, and pulled her onto his lap.

‘Eep!’ Hermione cried out, crumbling the papers as she grabbed a hold of him, too, trying to regain her balance in his arms. Her heart was pounding in her throat before she realised she wasn’t going to fall because he was holding her tightly. Quickly, she slapped his chest. ‘Couldn’t you like warn me or something?’   

‘Not nearly as entertaining,’ he said, winking at her.

Hermione huffed, shaking her head as she tried to iron out the papers on her thighs, which gave her a pretty good view of her neatly shaven pubic region since her skirt was now crumbled together somewhere around her waist.

‘Nice view, don’t you agree?’ Riddle asked, looking down, too. ‘It’s so tempting to …’ His fingers slid up her thigh till they could go no farther.

Hermione gasped, jolting her head back. Her pupils dilated, and she stared into his eyes, her mouth still slightly ajar. Her body elicited all kinds of delicious tingles in anticipation. The arm around her waist snaked up to her head, his fingers massaging her scalp. For a second, Hermione closed her eyes, enjoying the sensations. Then, he took a firm hold of her curls and tilted her head abruptly. Her eyes snapped open, meeting his nervously right before he captured her mouth in a brutal, domineering kiss. She could do nothing but follow his lead. This was something else. She’d never been kissed with this much determination and conviction.

And she loved it.

Hermione tossed the papers away and laced her arms around his neck, enjoying the softness of his hair between her fingers. Her muffled, content moan vibrated between their bodies as she returned his kiss with equal vigour. A moan that turned deeper when he stopped caressing her folds and parted them to rub his thumb over her sensitive nub. Her fingers clutched to his hair, her back arching. She held on tightly as he circled his thumb over her clit, faster and faster, alternating the pressure so she couldn’t anticipate the strength of the electrical shocks searing through her body, connecting with her sex that became slick in need.

Everything he did to her demanded her complete and utter surrender: The way his tongue caressed against hers, exploring her mouth at his convenience. The way he forced her to stay upright with the tight hold he had on her hair and the bend arm pressed against her upper back. The way he tightened his fist and would put pressure on her roots in rhythmic synchronism with their kissing, letting her feel who was in control here. And the way his thumb and fingers teased her nether regions until her entire body was on fire. She was twitching on his lap, moaning into his mouth helplessly. He yanked on her hair, tilting her head to the other side without disconnecting their lips or allowing her to catch her breath. Her full attention was forced to stay on his actions.

He pressed his wrist against the inside of her thigh when he entered her with one finger. Swiftly he found a rhythm between his thumb and finger. Her breathing turned heavier and heavier; her heart rate went through the roof; uncontrollable spasms made her legs jerk; her nipples had hardened into hard peaks; and her skin was perspiring in response to her rising need. She felt herself spiralling quickly out of control; so when he pushed two fingers inside of her and shifted the pressure on her walls by spreading and closing his fingers all the while rotating his wrist and intermittently stroking her clit mercilessly, she thought she was going to die. The painful pressure inside of her was rising, building, growing. So close. She was so close. She could feel it coming.

Suddenly, he yanked her away from his mouth by her hair, causing her to yelp. His other hand held still with his fingers motionless inside of her.

‘You were going to say, Mudblood,’ he hissed at her.

‘Uh?’ Hermione replied, not really in a state to comprehend anything or form a sensible thought.

He sighed exaggeratingly. ‘Do I need to paint everything out to your silly Gryffindoric mind?’

Before she had a chance to wrap her brain around what he was saying, he flicked his thumb over her clit.  
  
 _‘Ooooh.’_  
  
‘Apparently, I do,’ he added with a vicious grin. ‘You were supposed to tell me how brilliant my solution to your department’s problem is.’  
  
‘Incredibly brilliant,’ Hermione immediately agreed to.  _Eh, whatever kept him going._     
  
Tom clicked with his tongue disapprovingly. ‘Now that sounded  **incredibly**  insincere and self-serving, Granger.’  
  
Hermione tightened her grip on his neck, trying to bring him closer again. She might as well have tried to move a heavy marble statue for he remained stationary, his eyes glinting mockingly at her.  
  
‘I don’t think so,’ he taunted, ‘not until you tell me your opinion precisely and in detail.’  
  
She let out a disappointed groan when he removed his hand from her core.  
  
‘Start talking, Granger. You’re normally not this mute.’  
  
Hermione tried catching her breath while he unbuttoned her blouse at her chest, rubbing her juices over her swollen right breast. Coming down somewhat from her daze, she opened her mouth.  
  
‘I do think it is brilliant,’ she objected to his “insincere” judgement, ‘maybe even too brilliant because it might be impossible to execute for someone else but you, and I doubt – oww.’ He’d twisted her nipple hard.  
  
‘You’ve got quite sensitive breasts,’ he mused, seeming happy about that. ‘It will be my pleasure to teach you complete and immediate compliance by either rewarding,’ he massaged them gently, ‘or punishing them.’ The hard squeeze he placed on her nipple didn’t come as a surprise but made her cry out in pain nevertheless.     
  
Hermione glared at him reproachfully. ‘That really was unnecessary.’  
  
‘Not from where I am sitting,’ he replied, smirking at her as he stroked her bruised nipple softly. ‘And I don’t think you really mean it either, Granger, you love what I do to you.’ He waited, allowing his words to sink in before he continued, ‘So, you were saying something about the execution of my brilliant plan?’ Here, he smiled broadly.  
  
‘Well, I think there will be a problem in obtaining the necessary phoenix ashes. But even if the department should have a supply of it, I still believe the spells are too complicated for the average Unspeakable to perform,’ she replied honestly.  
  
The devious glee on his face told her she’d made a huge mistake, but she had no idea what that mistake could be.  
  
‘Okay then,’ he said cheerfully, suddenly tossing her off his lap and back into a seated position next to him.  
  
Hermione nearly tumbled over, catching her weight on the edge of the bed with her palms and leaning forward in shock. Her hair fell alongside her face, masking her horrified, frustrated expression while he kept talking in that upbeat tone of voice.  
  
‘I’ll teach you how to do it. Get up.’  
  
 _What?! He was going to leave her hanging? AGAIN!_  
  
The bed creaked when he rose and walked away from her, carelessly, as if there weren’t an extremely dissatisfied witch on the bed behind him. Hermione wiped her forehead, trying to regain her composure while her mind’s eye brought up visuals of a suffering Tom Riddle in vengeance. She heard the water streaming out of the facet as he washed his hands. Hermione took in a deep breath. She needed to clean up, too, and for that she needed to get to her feet. Still wobbly, she rose – glad she didn’t tumble back on her bum. Her revenge would just have to wait.  
  
Tom Riddle was watching her progress lazily, leaning with his butt against the sink. Ankles crossed, his long legs were held at a slight angle to his upper body, while he dried his hands carefully with the fluffy, white towel. He tossed it back on the hanger behind him and placed his hands on the sink’s rim on either side of him, effectively blocking her.  
  
‘Excuse me,’ Hermione tried.  
  
‘You’re excused.’  
  
‘Do you mind? I’d like to clean up, too.’  
  
His dark eyes flickered over her body appreciatively. Hermione knew she had to be quite a sight. Her legs were sticky and so was one of her breasts. She’d been able to keep her blouse from sticking to it by opening it farther, giving him quite the peepshow. She’d perspired, giving her a generally icky feeling, and she had sex-hair. Overall, she just looked like someone who’d been properly shagged, which she hadn’t.  
  
Damn bloody tease.  
  
‘I think you look positively scrumptious like this,’ Riddle said, a mischievous twinkle running through his eyes.  
  
Hermione sighed, dropping her head in annoyance. She really should’ve seen this coming and not giving him the satisfaction of being able to refuse her.  
  
‘Fine,’ she snapped, tossing her hands in the air and closing her blouse demonstratively. Apparently, she would be in need of a Cleansing Charm as soon as she was out from underneath these wards.  
  
Thirty minutes later, she had a clear concept on how to perform his solution on the Bell Jar and he bid her goodbye, smiling satisfied at how she still appeared ruffled.  
  
When Hermione closed the second door behind her and had arrived in the safety of the corridor where she could use magic, she focused. Her mind went over all the things Riddle had told her about using wandless magic purposely. Concentration, determination and desire were the key ingredients to success.  And she really, REALLY didn’t want to show the guards her current appearance.  
  
Suddenly, she felt her magic swirl around her as the clear indicators of a functioning Cleansing Charm smoothly moved over her body. Smiling brightly, Hermione jumped in excitement. She’d done it! She’d performed wandless magic purposely for the first time. She’d failed every other time before. With every passing day and every subsequent failure, it had become increasingly difficult to admit that to the very critical wizard locked up behind her, but now, she no longer had to. Making a little victorious dance, she pulled her underwear out of her jacket’s pocket where it was discretely tucked away and quickly put on her bra and knickers before moving upstairs.  
  
Sure, Riddle had probably meant no underwear all the time, but she wasn’t going to be caught dead without her knickers outside of his presence. She felt secure that, unlike Ron, he had the decency not to go through her pockets unasked. So, he’d never know and even if he did find out … Hermione sniffed up her nose haughtily. She’d loved to see him try to enforce it. He was after all nicely tucked away in his cell. Sniggering to herself, she walked back to daylight and the normal, everyday world.  
  


xxx

  
Her good mood had died out despite watching the hummingbird turn back into a fledgling and an egg before getting older again. When Hermione had seen the full contents of the tin containing phoenix ashes, she’d wondered just how many phoenixes they were taken from and if any of them had died because of it. She’d wrinkled her nose at Katie, who’d shrugged and said she might as well use it now since there was no way to return the ashes to their rightful owners. Reluctantly, Hermione had taken the ten ounces necessary and moved to the Time Chamber.

After Hermione’s extensive casting, the Bell Jar functioned as it was supposed to. Since there was no need for her to hover there, she went back to her tiny office. Ron had briefly popped in to give her a triumphant report of his latest success in apprehending a group of magical creature smugglers and he reminded her about their trip to the Burrow that evening. After he’d left, she scrambled through the papers on her desk, her mood rapidly deteriorating. Scribbling down the last sentence in her report, she looked up, feeling sour and unhappy, and she couldn’t pinpoint exactly why. She’d just succeeded at some very complicated magic, which normally made her elated and joyous but not today. And she liked going to the Burrow.  _She did_. It was always cheerful and cosy there, homey – just what she needed.  

No, after a bit of thinking, she knew exactly whom to blame for her current dark emotions: Tom Tease Riddle.

He continuously seemed to find pleasure in leaving her hot and bothered. She’d been so close to completion this time.

Damn fucking Dark Lords.

Closing her files with a snap, Hermione rose to her feet. She had plenty of overtime, and she needed a drink. A stiff one. Now.

xxx

  
‘She’s right over there, Mr Potter,’ the bartender said, waving at a dark corner of the empty pub. ‘I made sure she remained out of sight. Fortunately, it’s early, so there haven’t been many other customers around.’

‘Thank you for protecting her privacy and for owling me,’ Harry said, discretely handing the man ten Galleons.

‘No need,’ the bartender replied, obviously meaning the thanks since he pocketed the money quickly. ‘Everyone knows you two are best friends, and she said she’d curse off my balls if I contacted her husband, so …’ Trailing off, the man shivered briefly.

Harry snorted. ‘Sounds like her,’ he said, amused, before he gestured to a door nearby Hermione’s alleged position. ‘That’s the back door you mentioned in your letter?’

The bartender nodded in concurrence.

‘Then I got it from here on.’

Relieved, the bartender left Harry to go back about his business as far away from the scary, little witch as he could.

Self-assured, Harry walked to the corner, halting in front of the booth and taking in the unusual sight of a shit-drunk Hermione sprawled over the table – one hand on the bottle of Firewhiskey protectively and another curled around her nearly empty glass. Harry also noticed the already completely emptied out other bottle lying on the side, discarded.

 _Well, this is new,_ he thought, concerned. ‘Hermione?’

Her head snapped up abruptly. ‘Harry!’ she yelled loudly and far too boisterous. ‘Have a drink.’ She checked the contents of her bottle. ‘But get your own, okay? Mine’s only half full. This is the shittiest day ever. I am not sharing.’

She poured more into her glass and downed it immediately, not noticing how Harry scratched the back of his head, doubting what was the best strategy to undertake.

Hermione, on the other hand, felt that this was probably the best part of her day, unlike before when she’d not been shagged. Again. She should’ve killed him properly. Damn Aurors. He should’ve died in that damn sewer, choking on everyone else’s shit and pee. That would’ve been fitting. Damn Voldemort for always slipping through the cracks.  Damn Voldemort for ignoring her needs. Just damn him altogether.

‘Maybe he can’t get it up anymore,’ she said snidely, making Harry shuffle on his feet while his face turned red in discomfort at what he thought were private problems between Ron and Hermione.

Yeah, that had to be it, Hermione’s drunk mind concocted. Too many bloody resurrections had to have some kind of adverse effect. No wonder he was so cranky all the time and kept killing people. Now, she finally learned the true reason behind the existence of Lord Voldemort, otherwise known as Lord Softy Wiener. Hermione snorted in derision. She continued drinking, determined to get wasted to the best of her abilities. Hermione Jean Granger never did anything half.

‘Let’s go, Hermione,’ Harry said carefully, taking a hold of her upper arm. ‘I’ll get you home.’

Oh great, when she got home, she would have to shag her blanks-shooting husband. Bad idea. Hermione groaned, hitting her head on the tabletop.

‘Have a drink or get lost,’ she slurred, ‘I’m staying right here.’

Harry snatched the glass away from her.

‘EH! I told you to get your own!’ she cried out, settling down quickly when she remembered her bottle. ‘Oh well, I got this,’ she murmured, placing the bottleneck against her lips and tilting it back.

‘We’re getting out of here now,’ Harry ordered, hoisting her arm over his shoulder and pulling her up.

‘Pffffttt… you’re no fun at all,’ Hermione objected as she staggered to her feet with the bottle in her hand. ‘Always so responsible and _caaaaring_ , the famous Harry James Potter saves the day again. Do you get off on it, Harry, being everyone’s hero all the time? Hmm … probably not. You’re  _toooo_  disgustingly humble for that. Ron loves the attention – I bet he jerks off every time someone drools all over his magnificent heroic self. I bet he doesn’t tell them he hid at his brother’s – what’d you think?’

But she didn’t need any incentive from Harry. She kept going at a rapid pace.

‘Well, I don’t need saving unless it’s from the yapping morons in my life. Think you can fix that too, Harry? Maybe you could finally shut him up, not that I think it will work permanently. Nothing ever does.’

Harry desperately pretended not to hear what was coming out of her mouth as he dragged her out the door.

‘Yap, yap, yap, yap,’ Hermione droned, taking another sip from the bottle. ‘I don’t know how you managed all those years, Harry.’

‘It’s all right, Hermione. I’ll get you home and into bed,’ Harry replied, helping her in the car he’d left in the back alley and putting on her seatbelt.

‘To bed,’ Hermione slurred, ‘sounds like a wonderful idea, Harry. Not that much interesting has happened there before, you needn’t worry about performance anxiety.’

Harry shook his head. Did he just hear her correctly? Putting it on her current intoxicated state, he quickly moved around the car and took the driver’s seat. He really needed to have a talk with Ron and make him see he needed to pay more attention to Hermione. He’d never seen her in a state like this and it worried him.

‘You just need to rest, Hermione. You and Ron have both been under too much stress lately,’ he replied, starting the car quickly.

‘Oh yeah, Ron,’ she said, as if he were news to her, waving dismissively with her hand all the while leaning her head against the side window. It felt nice and cool to her heated face; so she pressed her cheek against it, attempting to gain as much contact as possible.

‘And he has to be right ALL the time,’ she continued, making Harry’s eyebrows rise. ‘Doesn’t he know that’s so annoying? Mr Know-It-All, phooey. As if the rest of the world is crazy. HAH! I know who needs to visit a mental institution. I’ve never met anyone with so many childhood issues. Boohoo, nobody wanted me. Pfffttt… Yeah, I feel all weepy and sad and concerned for his feeble well-being now.’ Another derisive snort left her mouth.

She raised the bottle to her lips when it suddenly vanished. Unseen to her, Harry pocketed his wand. Confused, Hermione checked her empty hand as if the bottle would miraculously reappear if she looked long enough. Then, she checked the glove compartment before she bent at the waist, patting underneath her seat with her hand. When she was about to undo her seatbelt to be able to reach farther, Harry locked it with a flick of his wrist. She kept pressing the button to unlock it without success, slurring about needing to find her liquor or the day would seriously go to waste.

‘Oh!’ she called out in revelation, as if a lightbulb had flashed above her head, ‘I still got Bloodwine at home from my visit to Transylvania. I’ve been told it packs quite a punch.’

Satisfied, she leaned back in the seat, turning her head to Harry and then to the speedometer. Next, Harry had to pull her foot of his as she tried to make him press the gas pedal harder.

‘Hermione … HERMIONE DON’T!’ he yelled when she bent at her waist again and landed between his legs, pressing the pedal with both hands.

The car swerved over the road before stopping with squeaking tires right in front of a thick oak tree. Harry let out a relieved breath. Then, he pulled the stunned witch off him, laying her down in the seat he’d reclined with another wave of his wand. He hadn’t wanted to Apparate her, knowing that was sickening enough when one was sober. So, he’d opted for a car, not knowing it would nearly get them both killed. Without further ado, he drove on and parked in front of Hermione’s flat. Since she was out now, he unlocked the seatbelt and pulled her in his lap before Disapparating.

When he arrived in her flat, he undid the Stunner and she came to in his arms, still mumbling about him needing to drive faster.

‘Oh, we’re here. Good, the liquor cabinet is … I – I … am tired,’ she mumbled incoherently, yawning. She tried to stagger away from him and nearly fell, wobbling on her heels. ‘Bed.’

‘I’ll get you there,’ Harry said, hoisting her up and half-carrying her to the bedroom. She didn’t make it easy with her constant swaying and coming up with different ideas on their way over, one which included snogging him, but he finally got her into the bedroom.

Gently, he laid Hermione down on her bed, prying her arms of his neck and hoping she was drunk enough not to remember her behaviour in the morning. He was pretty sure she’d be embarrassed as hell. She was fast asleep when he took off her shoes and pulled the covers over her.   

‘Feel better, Hermione,’ he said, kissing her forehead. ‘I hope you have enough Sobering Potion stored.’

A loud snore was her only reply as he closed the bedroom door behind him and sat down in the easy chair, waiting for Ron. He’d tried staying out of their relationship, ignoring the signs of unhappiness to the best of his abilities as he didn’t want to get caught in the middle and be forced to pick a side. Harry sighed, ruffling his hands through his hair absentmindedly. This was exactly what he had feared when they’d started dating: that their relationship would fail and their mutual friendship would lie in ruins in the wake of a no doubt nasty break up. He recalled very well how things had been during his sixth year at Hogwarts and he had no desire to see Hermione that miserable again.

Swiftly, he sent a Patronus message to Molly Weasley to let her know he’d be late in picking up his son. He knew she wouldn’t mind at all to have some additional quality time with James and would probably spoil him rotten when she was by herself with him. Harry smiled, knowing that Ginny had futilely tried to stop her mother from turning James into a spoilt toddler that always got his way. Molly had merely replied by stating it was her duty as a grandmother to spoil him, causing Ginny to give up what Harry had deemed an impossible endeavour from the start.

However, Ginny had limited the amount of contact time between James and Molly significantly after that. Only today, Ginny was reporting the latest Quidditch match between her old team – the Holyhead Harpies – and Montrose Magpies. She wouldn’t be home until much later, depending on how quickly the Snitch would be caught. Considering both teams lacked a good Seeker, Harry had not got his hopes up on seeing his wife that evening at all. Molly would have a field day with James, and he’d probably receive a scolding for leaving James at the Burrow for so long. A fond smile crossed his face. He was suitably happy with his wife. If only Hermione and Ron would feel the same about each other, his life would be damn near perfect.

Harry grabbed the nearby Daily Prophet and started completing the crossword puzzle.  

xxx


	6. Pain and Pleasure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My thanks goes to my betas: Serpent In Red and Cosettex.

**The Prisoner**  
  
 **Chapter 6: Pain and Pleasure**  
  
Carefully holding the bag with potions bottles in one hand and the groceries in the other, Ron Weasley was one hand short to open the door. Cautiously, he shook his arm, hoping to dislodge his wand from his Auror holster. Alas, it wouldn’t budge. It was designed to withstand a bit of rough and tumble in order to prevent the wand from being easily nicked or have it drop out accidentally during fights. Sighing, he finally resigned to putting the bag with groceries down between his legs. Unfortunately, two bags of potato chips and a cauliflower decided to take advantage of this and made a run for it. Groaning, Ron flashed his wand at them and caught the cauliflower in his hand, dumping it back on top of the rest before summoning the bags of chips, too.  
  
This was becoming the shittiest day of his life. Now he couldn’t even summon simple items at once anymore. He could just hear Hermione’s bossy voice in his mind, telling him how to hold and move his wand as if he were stupid. Dammit. It was like the gods were against him all the time lately. He hoped Hermione wouldn’t mind not going to the Burrow tonight because he so wasn’t feeling up to facing his family after the news the Healer had just given him.  
  
Ron closed his eyes – he could already hear George’s jokes in his imagination and see his mother’s utterly disappointed face. He leaned with his forehead against the door and banged against it softly.  
  
Why had he even listened to Charlie? It would have been better not knowing this. If Hermione found out, she’d leave him for sure. She was so adamant about wanting children lately. Not that he didn’t, but apparently, he  ** _couldn’t_**. Something else his brothers were better at. Fucking bleeding hell. Just when he had finally become visible to his mother, this shit had to happen. He flashed his wand angrily at the wards around the door and kicked it in, which only resulted in him having to chase groceries down the hall again because his bag tore apart.  
  
He ran after the rolling soda bottle that was bouncing down the stairs when it suddenly flew through the air past him.  
  
Terrific, now she’d seen him being a klutz as well.  
  
However, his face brightened when he turned around and saw that it was only Harry, holding the soda bottle in his hands. ‘Need some help?’  
  
‘Yes, thanks,’ Ron replied brightly. ‘Those damn paper bags are a pain in the arse.’  
  
Harry swooshed his wand around, and the bag reassembled back together, filling with all the groceries Ron had been chasing after. While Harry was focused on that bag, Ron quickly took the one with the potions bottles before Harry could get a closer look at them – he’d not spent all that money in Knockturn Alley only to be arrested by his friend for buying illegal, fake fertility potions. But he had to do something. He couldn’t tell Hermione he was sterile. And knowing that he was, he couldn’t let her continue taking those dangerous potions. If something happened to her, it would be his fault. He didn’t want that on his plate as well. It was full enough as it was already.  
  
While Harry was in the kitchen, placing the groceries in the fridge and cupboards, Ron quickly switched the potions bottles in the Muggle medicine cabinet Hermione’s parents had given them. He used a Banishing Charm on the real potions, not knowing that Hermione wasn’t taking them either but had a different stash (containing her homemade alterations) hidden elsewhere in the flat.  
  
Satisfied he got away with it, he walked up to Harry who stood there holding the last bag of potato chips, unable to find any room in the cupboards for it.  
  
‘I’ll fix that,’ Ron said, taking the bag and tearing it open. ‘Want some?’ he asked, holding out the bag to Harry while chewing away the handful he’d placed in his mouth.  
  
‘No, I am good.’  
  
‘Suit yourself,’ Ron replied, shrugging. ‘I need something to eat before Hermione comes home. She’s always so late these days.’  
  
‘Yeah, Ron, er … about Hermione …’ Harry shuffled on his feet uncomfortably. He had no idea how to bring this up without it turning into a huge row.  
  
Ron pulled the charmed Auror baton from his pocket and placed it on the shelf before he unclasped the metal band around his upper arm. ‘What about her?’ he asked, turning around.  
  
‘Why are you still wearing that Shield Charm Enhancer?’ Harry asked, distracted, staring at the device in Ron’s hand.  
  
‘Because they’re positively brilliant,’ Ron said, his “duh-uh” facial expression speaking volumes.  
  
‘Hermione doesn’t think so; she warned me against using them. Don’t tell me she didn’t tell you to do the same.’  
  
‘Yes, but she can’t give me any good reason as to why.’  
  
‘Well, she’s an Unspea–’ Harry started.  
  
‘I know what her job is,’ Ron snapped, getting irritated. ‘But she wasn’t involved in the development of these things, and all she had to say about them was that she didn’t trust the inventor.’  
  
‘Good enough for me,’ Harry muttered.  
  
‘Then you’re being stupid. You should see the range my shields have these days. This thing,’ Ron said, waving the band under Harry’s nose, ‘works perfectly. I don’t get what’s the big deal about it. If you think they are so dangerous, why do you allow your Aurors to wear them?’  
  
‘Kingsley pushed them through on McGregor’s recommendation,’ Harry replied, getting annoyed, too. ‘You know very well how I protested against their implementation but was outvoted. I even sent a memo to every Auror that wearing them is optional and not obligated, and that I personally advise against using them.’  
  
‘An advice you based on nothing!’ Ron roared, flinging his arms through the air, showering them in chips, which they both ignored.  
  
‘An advice I based on Hermione. She’s never let me down before. If she thinks those things aren’t safe, I take her word for it.’  
  
‘Yeah, because her word is “just a feeling – can’t pinpoint it – I just think there’s something wrong with them”,’ Ron quoted sarcastically. ‘She doesn’t have any concrete evidence. And she searched for it. Believe me, I saw her investigate one a thousand times when she heard the Auror Department was going to use them. She nearly blew up our house. She’s only pissed Moore invented something this useful because he’s a disorganised pig who takes advantage of house-elves in her eyes.’  
  
‘Well, fine,’ Harry snapped, ‘wear the bloody things. See if I care if they blow up in your face some day.’  
  
‘And watch me say “I told you so” when you get blown off your feet someday because the great Harry Potter was too high-and-mighty to use them.’  
  
‘Oh, I don’t need this again,’ Harry growled, pacing to the door. He grabbed the doorknob and turned around. ‘I had to pick up your drunk wife in a dingy pub. I guess she’s so happy with you that she felt the need to get wasted in the middle of the day. She’s asleep in the bedroom in case you actually care.’  
  
He swirled out, but not before seeing Ron’s jaw drop in astonishment. 

Ron’s ears turned red, and his hand crumbled the sack of potato chips to mush when his surprise turned to anger as all of Harry’s words sunk in fully. Furious, Ron threw the metal band against the closed door, and it clattered loudly around the room, settling down in front of their coffee table, finally lying still. Innocently. Unaware of the commotion it had caused.  
  
Ron sighed and dropped in the nearby chair, holding his head in his hands.  
  
This was definitely the shittiest day ever.  
  
xxx  
  
‘Hermione – Hermione!’ McGregor called out when she was on her way out the door.  
  
The fast, sharp clicking of McGregor’s heels told Hermione she wasn’t going to get away on time. The lifts at the Ministry were never that fast at this hour. Sighing, she turned around and witnessed her boss pacing towards her with a swinging piece of paper in her hand that looked suspiciously familiar. It had to be out of Hermione’s notebook, since the majority of the Ministry was still hung up on using parchment.  
  
She folded her arms over each other and waited, wondering what this was about. She’d not gone to Azkaban the entire day and wasn’t planning a visit either. Riddle could just stew in his cell forever if it were up to her. If he thought he had one up on her, he was duly mistaken. She was free to go as she pleased. For a second, her mind cringed in guilt at considering their deal and all the knowledge she let slip through her fingers. However, she didn’t feel any guilt at considering him waiting for her. A vengeful smirk erupted on Hermione’s face. Who was the boss now? Hah!  
  
‘What’s the matter?’ Hermione asked, pulling her face back into a neutral expression when Katie halted in front of her, panting.  
  
‘Moore can’t make this work,’ Katie McGregor said, holding out the paper. ‘He claims there is a bit of information missing.’  
  
Reluctantly, Hermione accepted Riddle’s writings and went over it, groaning when she realised Moore was right. It was incomplete.  
  
‘I am sure he wrote it all down,’ she replied, frowning at the last sentence, which ended in “combine the three ingredients and stir”. ‘There should be a second paper with the rest of it.’ She held out the paper back to Katie.  
  
‘Moore might have misplaced the rest,’ Katie said, not accepting it.  
  
‘Might have?’ Hermione asked sarcastically, making a face as she dropped her hand.  
  
Katie snorted. ‘Well, you know what he’s like. I can’t even get paid house-elves crazy enough to clean up his disgusting workplace.’  
  
‘Okay, I’ll ask Riddle to write it down again tomorrow.’ Hermione pocketed the paper inside her trousers’ suit.  
  
‘We need it tonight, Hermione.’ When she saw Hermione’s face darken, Katie quickly added, ‘I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important. But we really need that potion for a covert mission abroad asap.’  
  
Wasn’t she ever going to get a break? She’d so planned  **not**  to go today. 

‘Fine,’ Hermione snapped, ‘I’ll get it tonight.’ She swirled around and pressed on the lift’s button again as if that would make it come faster.  
  
‘Everything all right?’ Katie asked carefully.  
  
‘Department of Mysteries, level F,’ a cool female voice called out when the grills opened to Hermione’s utter relief. She stepped into the lift.  
  
‘Just peachy keen,’ she replied, tipping her imaginary hat at the frowning McGregor when the lift closed.  
  
How was she going to get revenge on him if she was going to show up anyway? When the idea sprung to mind, Hermione giggled gleefully. She just needed to stop by her flat to change into something more … comfortable.  
  
xxx  
  
Doris was on duty at Azkaban, and her blue eyes ran curiously over Hermione’s leisurely outfit. ‘No time to change?’ she asked with humour, getting out of her chair and walking to the counter.  
  
‘Didn’t feel like it,’ Hermione replied, removing her wand from her baggy, grey tracksuit’s pocket.  
  
Clothing demands, pffftt… If he wasn’t delivering, neither was she. She was really looking forward to the expression on his face when he’d see these “lovely” garments, especially her weathered pink trainers. Vengeance was hers. Hah!  
  
‘Besides, I wasn’t at work,’ Hermione explained further. ‘McGregor felt the need to bother me in my free time.’  
  
Doris huffed. ‘Don’t you just hate it when that happens?’ she asked rhetorically as she locked up Hermione’s wand and gave back the plastic bag, containing her notebook and pen, before pushing a thick, leather book towards Hermione. ‘Sign here.’  
  
Hermione scribbled her signature in the prison’s logbook. The letters briefly glowed, and a time stamp appeared next to her name. ‘See you later, Doris.’  
  
‘Be careful down there.’  
  
‘Will do,’ Hermione said offhandedly as she moved through the door and went down.  
  
She flipped open the door to his cell and paced inside, halting in front of the table and demonstratively dropping her bag on it with a distinct thud. After a while, Riddle finally looked up from the book on complex potions dilemmas and turned his head carelessly to her. His dark eyes flickered swiftly over her appearance. However, to Hermione’s irritation, his face remained utterly composed, not revealing any emotion at all. Then, he smiled brightly.  
  
‘So, did you see any improvement yesterday in your wandless skills?’ he asked lightly.  
  
 _Uh?_  
  
Dumbfounded, Hermione just stared at him. This wasn’t the first subject she’d been expecting him to address. Actually, this wasn’t a subject she’d been expecting him to touch at all. Not when there were filthy trainers and a tracksuit staring right at him. And not when it was seven o’clock in the evening instead of nine a.m.  
  
‘No wandless Cleansing Charm?’ he asked knowingly, arching an eyebrow expectantly.  
  
Her mouth dropped. ‘Cleansing Charm, how did you know?’ she asked disbelievingly; the Knut dropped before he had the chance to respond, and surprised, she added, ‘You did that to me deliberately?’  
  
He smirked, flipping his legs off the bed to sit on the side as usual. ‘You were becoming more and more evasive about the subject every time I inquired about your progress. When I stopped asking, you kept silent. So, I figured if you weren’t volunteering the information, it meant you hadn’t succeeded yet. Since you’re an accomplished witch, I knew you could do it – you had to be simply blocking yourself. Fear of failure, I presume,’ he said knowingly. ‘I had to do something drastic to get you over that. Don’t tell me it wasn’t incentive enough for you to finally succeed?’  
  
He hadn’t fucked her to help her? 

Now, she felt conflicted. On the one hand, she still was irritated he hadn’t. On the other hand, she’d felt increasingly awful about her failures, and it was like a heavy weight had been lifted off her shoulders when she’d performed that Cleansing Charm wandlessly. It was such a relief she no longer had to worry about it. She was really thankful he’d helped her past that blockade. In a sense, it was incredibly considerate of him.  
  
Merlin, and she’d thought he simply didn’t want her. He obviously did. Otherwise, he wouldn’t go to so much length for her. Oh, and she’d said all those horrible things about him in her mind yesterday and today. Now she felt like a cad for standing him up the entire day and showing up in her tracksuit. What had she been thinking?  
  
Her expression appeared to be enough of an answer to Riddle because he became positively pleased. A bit too pleased. It grounded her.  
  
‘Do you ever do anything without ulterior motives?’  
  
‘Hmm…’ –he looked at the ceiling in faux contemplation– ‘let me think.’ After some time passed, his dark eyes met hers again. ‘No, I don’t think I ever have. I am not that boring, Hermione, and I have many,’ his tone of voice turned suggestive, ‘ _ulterior motives_  when it concerns you.’  
  
Hermione shifted uncomfortably on her feet. Was he saying there what she thought he was saying? She wasn’t sure anymore. She’d been wrong so many times now, thinking it would happen and then nothing, zip, zilch. Plus, she looked horrible and had not obeyed him at all. He couldn’t possibly want to shag her tonight, could he?  
  
Still, there was a feral glint in his eyes that said otherwise. It simultaneously aroused her and made her want to bolt in fear because it held something dangerous, something so forbidden one should never consider it. No, it would be the sane, logical and rational choice to leave. Immediately.  
  
Yet, her feet stayed still. Immobile. Perhaps she wasn’t as rational as she’d always thought?  
  
For she didn’t want to leave. She wanted to stay. She wanted him to want her to stay.  
  
‘What’s in the plastic bag?’ Riddle asked, interrupting her train of thought.  
  
She briefly shook herself as if settling down her ruffled feathers. ‘My notebook and pen,’ Hermione replied quietly; she felt a bit embarrassed about her appearance and behaviour now. ‘Moore misplaced your previous notes on the Lagochilius Potion.’  
  
Riddle snorted. ‘Why am I not surprised?’ he muttered, opening the bag and pulling her notebook out.  
  
‘Because he’s always a mess?’ she suggested lightly, trying to divert her own attention away from the mess she’d put herself in.  
  
Amused, Riddle looked up, his eyes flickering over her body demonstratively. With it, he effectively screwed over any chance Hermione had of altering her thoughts.    
  
‘Hmm… yes, I really abhor messy people. Disgusting.’  
  
Blushing vehemently, Hermione swallowed. Damn. She knew her clothes would become an issue. She’d been surprised he’d not kicked her out immediately or said anything about them before. She’d put them on to provoke him. Now she was regretting that move because he wasn’t ripping them off her body and “punishing her hard” as her mind had briefly fantasised about. No, he let her suffer, naturally. This was so humiliating. She’d never been much of a chess player, Hermione realised, for her clothes had become an obstacle instead of an asset in what she wanted to accomplish.  
  
Riddle was again ignoring her and scribbling rapidly in her notebook. ‘Tell McGregor this is the only time I am rewriting anything. Should she or her insipid staff lose something else, they’re on their own. I am not a mimeograph.’  
  
‘Okay,’ Hermione said meekly, making a mental note to copy his notes for her department herself from hereon.  
                                                                                                                               
But why was he just bloody writing now? He’d gone from making suggestive remarks to business-like mode in a flash. Why? She was right here! No more issues with wandless magic either, and surely, he’d want to do something about her disgusting clothes? Or perhaps there were more ulterior motives not to shag her?  
  
 _Godric please, don’t let there be, I’d go crazy._  
  
Shuffling on her feet, she wondered how on earth she could turn things around. There was nothing she could do about her choice in clothes here. Without magic, she couldn’t charm them into a skirt and all. 

Ooooh, perhaps she could get it done wandlessly in the corridor? 

Turning on her heels, she was about to walk away.  
  
‘Where are you going?’ Riddle asked sharply, looking up from his work.  
  
‘I–I wa–wanted,’ she stuttered, not finding the courage to say what she’d wanted to do as she looked over her shoulder and shut her mouth when she saw his icy expression.  
  
‘You’re not going anywhere, Granger. I’m not done with you yet.’ His index finger made a rotating motion, ordering her to turn around again, and as if she were a puppet on a string, she obliged. ‘Stay,’ he barked when she was back where she started.  
  
Suitably nervous, Hermione scratched the back of her neck while her eyes darted around the room, looking anywhere but at him. She’d only wanted to go and change. 

For him. 

Surely, he must have realised? 

Her eyes landed on him. His head was bowed to the paper, his black locks framing his pale face. Such great hair, she wouldn’t mind ruffling her hands through it again. And speaking of hands, she barely restrained the moan that threatened to erupt from her throat as she considered what those long, slender fingers had done to her the last time she was here. Her eyes focused on his hands. They really were beautiful, as everything else about him: strong, thin and powerful. Hermione could tell he was nearly done by the way he wrote with more forceful strokes. He always did that when he reached the end of his writings.  
  
And then what? She was still wearing the same things he disapproved of, and he hadn’t allowed her to go – Oh.  
  
The idea struck her like a bolt of lightning: she could undress.  
  
Hermione bit her lip.  
  
Could she? She’d have to take everything off. She wasn’t wearing a single garment he approved of.  
  
Well, it wasn’t like he hadn’t seen everything already, and she really wanted to please him. But what if it weren’t what he wanted her to do? What if she made a fool of herself by doing this? She squirmed at the thought. Then again, what if it were and she hadn’t done it? What if it would displease him if she’d just remained here like this? What would he do then: Not shag her; tell her to take a hike and piss off for good? She couldn’t stand the thought of being rejected by him. Her eyes glanced over her baggy tracksuit again. It screamed rejection at her in big, bright, red, neon letters.  
  
Gathering all her courage and shoving her embarrassment away, Hermione kicked off her shoes one by one and unzipped her tracksuit’s jacket. The sound of her motions had halted Riddle’s pen. He seemed utterly frozen for a second. Hermione dumped her jacket on the floor unceremoniously. Riddle’s face lifted, and encouraged by that ghost of a smile on his face, she yanked her T-shirt over her head fast. When it landed on top of her jacket, Riddle was busy writing again, and she quickly got rid of her “illegal” bra.  
  
Was he writing faster now? Surely, this wasn’t a race, now was it?  
  
Then, she’d better not come in second.  
  
Hurriedly, she lowered her underwear together with the tracksuit’s bottoms and stepped out of it, kicking it to the side. Now all she had left were her socks. When she rose again, Riddle placed down the pen. They’d finished simultaneously.  
  
Expectantly, Hermione waited.  
  
And then waited some more when he leaned back, folding his hands behind his head as he studied her meticulously. Her heart was at her throat, and she held her breath as she waited for his judgement. This was so hot. To watch those intense, dark eyes focusing solely on her made her stomach do little flip-flops while her belly pooled in need. She squirmed, rubbing her thighs together subconsciously.  
  
It caused him to smirk.  
  
‘One more second and you’d been too late, dear,’ he teased, his tone light and airy. ‘You wouldn’t have liked what I would’ve done had you still been wearing that–that horrible sack of rags when I was finished.’  
  
Hermione let out a relieved breath, causing her entire posture to relax.  
  
‘However, now that you look so positively tempting …’ he trailed off, his eyes roaming over her body appreciatively again, ‘I suppose I have to find something else for us to do.’  
  
 _Oh yes, good idea,_ she thought, elated.  
  
‘Come here,’ he ordered coolly, pointing to the floor next to him as he sat up straight.  
  
Hermione frowned, wondering why he’d suddenly changed from playful to that harsh, commanding persona again. Apparently, she’d stalled too long because he barked, ‘Now.’  
  
Jolting in shock, she began moving to him, not nearly as eager as she’d been mere moments ago. Something was amiss. She was sure of it. His entire posture and demeanour screamed trouble. For her. When she’d arrived next to him, he wasn’t paying attention to her at all as she looked down. It somehow felt wrong to be at a higher position than him, but he’d not offered her a seat, and she had a feeling she was walking on thin ice as it was already. So, she remained there, waiting.  
  
‘On your knees.’  
  
She sharply inhaled.  
  
 _On my knees?_  
  
Biting her lip in doubt, she considered whether she wanted to do that. Her sex was already answering for her by clenching in need. Her entire body showed how much it wanted to comply with that order. A part of her was shouting loudly at her to just do as she was told because this was what she’d always wanted – to be dominated sexually. Another part of her was seeing Death Eaters in that same posture. She wasn’t a Death Eater nor would she ever be one of his followers. She couldn’t dislodge those thoughts from her head and simply comply for the sake of sexual pleasure. Not when the horrors of his regime flashed before her mind’s eye.  
  
She was about to take a step back and run for the hills when he rose and yanked her roughly against him, holding her tightly to his firm body. Their contact made her close her eyes and inhale. Sparks travelled through her at the sensation of his strong arms around her, pressing her snugly against him. Feeling his arousal was all the more invigorating; she just wanted to rub herself against him but was unable to move. Caught. Captured.  
  
The moan escaped her lips involuntarily, and Hermione arched her neck to meet his darkened gaze.  
  
‘You’re a difficult one, aren’t you?’ he asked seriously. ‘High maintenance, too, I bet.’ Gently, one of his hands stroked through her hair at the side of her face. ‘So many restraining morals, don’t you ever get tired of it and want to satisfy your  ** _own_**  needs for a change?’  
  
Before she had a chance to respond, his lips were on hers, demanding entry to which she eagerly complied. Somehow, her arms wrapped themselves around his waist, stroking him through his shirt. She felt  _that_  was very unsatisfying. However, the way he massaged her scalp and explored her tongue wasn’t, and she clutched to him. She followed his lead as he lowered them. When he broke off the kiss and watched her heatedly, she was on her knees, and he was sitting on the bed, still petting her hair.  
  
‘There,’ he said, satisfied. ‘Now that wasn’t so hard, was it?’  
  
She blinked. Why had she…?  
  
His fingers wrapped around her curls warningly. ‘Stop overthinking things, Hermione. Tell me how you feel.’  
  
‘Confused.’ It was the first thing that came to mind, and she’d replied without considering the consequences.  
  
‘And?’ he demanded.  
  
‘Scared.’  
  
‘Why?’  
  
‘I’m afraid of losing myself to you … of getting hurt,’ she added barely audible.  
  
He considered her for a moment before replying softly, ‘You secured your own pain when you decided to come here in that tracksuit, Hermione. You knew that in advance. I told you what I would do to you if I ever caught you wearing knickers again.’  
  
Frightened, she stared at him, his words echoing in her mind:  _I’ll spank you so hard you won’t be able to sit for a week._  
  
‘But – but you can’t touch me,’ she objected, ignoring that he already was. ‘We have a deal. That hour is over,’ she babbled anxiously.  
  
‘I’m aware of that,’ he replied calmly. ‘However, when I suggested the inevitable consequences of disobedience, you didn’t object to it being outside the rules then, and as such–’  
  
‘Well, I am now,’ Hermione interrupted, wide-eyed.  
  
‘Too late,’ he said, smirking down at her. ‘You’ve already infringed upon my rules, and as such, you will be punished according to the severity of your crime.’ His eyes humorously moved to her pile of clothes, and he wrinkled his nose. ‘I daresay it’s quite something. You must have been really desperate for a good hiding, doll. So, let’s get this over with.’ He patted on his lap, showing her where he wanted her to go.  
  
Reflexively, her insides contracted in pure, unadulterated lust at the idea of lying on his lap like that –her arse in the air, naked, helpless, at his mercy– while he spanked her. It was an overwhelming vision, so powerful that she shuddered – a fantasy come true. Yet, some fantasies shouldn’t be played out, weren’t nearly as much fun in reality as they were in your mind. This would hurt. A lot. So, she shook her head, despite his tight grip.  
  
‘You’re trying my patience, Granger.’  
  
The warning was placed. She could tell by the look on his face he wasn’t going to repeat it. If she didn’t comply now, he’d act. She’d no idea what else he could do but doubted it would be an improvement to what she was already facing. Riddle let go of her hair when she started to move.  
  
 _By Godric, this is demeaning_ , Hermione thought as she crawled over his legs.  
  
 _And hot,_ a voice in the back of her mind added in excitement.  
  
When her hips were at an even level with his lap, he took a hold of her, turning them both somewhat, so she wouldn’t be lying on the edge of the bed with her upper body. Her legs were dangling off the side, and she was muddling around with her arms, not finding a comfortable position for them.  
  
‘Put them above your head.’  
  
Damn, she’d been about to place them next to her head for some leverage, just in case. 

Reluctantly, Hermione moved her arms above her head, holding her head sideways, so her face wasn’t pressing directly into the mattress. Placing her hands on top of each other, she realised just how fucked she was – even gravity was working against her in this position. Getting up would be nearly impossible. When his hand stroked over her spine, caressing her skin softly before settling between her shoulder blades, she corrected that assessment to fully impossible.  
  
Well, she guessed if push came to shove, she could always roll to the ground. Not that she thought lying on the floor would actually be an improvement, too.  
  
Fine, she was completely screwed.  
  
What had she been thinking earlier when she’d put on that damn tracksuit? She’d never felt so vulnerable in her life, and that included the time he had her pressed up against the wall. Only now she was naked as well, putting things at a whole new level of disadvantage for her. She tensed when his other hand touched her bottom.  
  
However, he wasn’t hitting her. Instead, he stroked her curves, exploring every inch of her left cheek before moving to her right. It felt nice –well,  _really_  nice– yet she couldn’t relax enough to enjoy it. She was sure showing relaxation would bite her in the arse, figuratively and literally speaking.  
  
‘Wonderful,’ he commented, his voice slightly amazed as he kept caressing her behind, ‘I’ve been wanting to spank this ever since you first called out to me through the window in that insolent tone of voice of yours.’  
  
Unable to stay still, Hermione twitched in his lap when he started fondling her. He drew a long finger through her folds, and she closed her eyes at the unbelievable, sensitising experience. It had to be the anticipation thrumming through her because she never got this wet this quickly.  
  
‘I see you’re quite looking forward to your punishment,’ Riddle said blankly, continuing to fondle her. ‘Tell me why you deserve this, Granger.’  
  
Horrified, Hermione tried to turn and look up at him, but his palm was resting between her shoulder blades, holding her down. He wasn’t really going to make her say it, was he? As if this –all of it, everything– wasn’t humiliating enough already.  
  
Why couldn’t he just get a move on and get this over and done with?  
  
As if on cue, his hand left her bottom. She just had the clarity of mind to expect it and tensed, clenching her teeth together to not make a sound, when his hand landed on her left cheek roughly.  
  
Damn, that hurt.  
  
The palm of his hand began making circles all over her bottom. ‘You will answer me promptly and honestly when I ask you questions, Granger, or we’re going to be doing this all night long. Is that clear?’  
  
‘Yes,’ she replied hastily.  
  
‘Hmm…’ he contemplated, holding his hand still for a moment, ‘insufficient answer, Granger.’  
  
She screwed her face together when his hand went up again.  
  
 _Smack!_  
  
Her eyes sprang open in pain because he’d struck her in exactly the same spot as before.  
  
‘Yes, Master,’ she corrected, wanting to avoid as much pain as possible.  
  
‘Good girl,’ he purred, fondling her again. ‘Now tell me why you deserve this, why you need to be punished.’  
  
‘Because I disobeyed you and wore the wrong clothes … Master,’ she added the latter quickly.  
  
‘Indeed. You’ve been a  _very bad girl_ , Hermione,’ he said in such a dark voice it made her swoon, ‘and it’s my duty to set you straight, right?’  
  
‘Yes, Master.’  
  
‘Then, we shall commence,’ he spoke coldly.  
  
He did just that and began spanking her in earnest, finding a rhythm between his gentle caresses and his hard blows. Now, he was moving his hand around, never hitting her in the same place twice in a row. Her fingers curled in the sheet underneath her, clutching to it as if it were a lifesaver; her face was screwed together in pain, digging into the mattress as if it would take the blows for her; her eyes had watered; and she couldn’t keep still anymore. Adrenaline spiked through her veins, resurrecting her autonomic fight-and-flight response. She wiggled more adamantly in his lap, thinking on how to get away and contemplating on using her legs.  
  
Abruptly, he stopped. ‘Every time you move to try and escape me will mean an extra slap added to the total,’ he warned.  
  
Her cheeks were already burning and red hot from his blows. She really didn’t want more of them added, so she froze on the spot. Her lack of movement made his gentle caress even more mind-blowing than before – almost as if by moving, she’d taken some of the edge off the electric jolts travelling to her brain and exploding there like fireworks in the sky. She didn’t quite understand how she could feel so much pain and so much pleasure in such quick succession. But she really wanted him to continue stroking her as he did now. It felt amazing.  
  
However, he obviously wasn’t done spanking her yet, and she wanted to know how much more she had to take.  
  
‘What’s the total … Master?’ she asked in a weak voice.  
  
‘That completely depends upon your personal insight, Hermione.’  
  
He suddenly inserted a finger into her fanny, taking her completely by surprise. She gasped and squirmed from the accumulating pleasure his movements against her sensitive walls elicited inside of her. He had no trouble moving in and out; she was that aroused and wet for him already.  
  
‘When you show me you understand, I will stop.’  
  
Well, she didn’t want him to stop  _this_. 

A moan left her lips when he flicked over her clit. Next, his hand smacked down on her right cheek again. It was the first time she cried out in pain.  
  
‘That’s it, dear,’ he said oh so gently, stroking her sex again. ‘Scream, holler, cry, you will learn.’  
  
 _Smack._  
  
She could no longer hold it in. The pain had become too overwhelming to take. So, she screamed every time he struck her. And every time he fondled her, stroked her clit and fingered her vagina, she twisted and moaned in overwhelming pleasure. The conflicting signals blew her mind and blurred her vision. The contrast was too extreme and yet so satisfying. She had to let go, had to surrender and let it happen. Her behind was stinging ferociously, yet her sex was slick in lust and her whole body felt flushed. And after every painful slap, her brain already danced in joy over the anticipation of things to come, waiting for that surge of tingling delight to arrive. Such wondrous bliss, such an amazing high, she never wanted to come down from it again.  
  
 _Smack._  
  
She buried her head in the mattress to muffle her pain-filled scream.  
  
‘No need for that,’ Riddle said viciously, rubbing hard over her swollen clit.  
  
She clenched her face together and let out an elongated moan. She could feel it coming; the building of pleasure became exponential. This had to be the biggest thrill of her life, and it was because of him: Tom Marvolo Riddle, Lord Voldemort.  
  
‘Nobody here to hear you scream or come to your rescue,’ he hissed at the same time her orgasm struck her in full force, ‘ ** _Weasley_**.’  
  
She froze, a chill running down her spine when he used her husband’s surname to address her. He’d never done that before. And it was all the more horrifying when she was still in the process of coming down from her climax. She’d never felt this way with Ron. She would never feel this way with Ron. 

Ever.  
  
Tears started forming in her eyes but not from physical pain as before. This time it was emotional pain, and that she couldn’t suppress, couldn’t hold those tears in as she had the other ones. Her body shook as she let out an audible sob. And another. Rapidly expanding into more and more until she was a sobbing mess. She didn’t even notice he’d stopped spanking her, that he was just holding his arm gently around her legs, his palm resting on her hip, while she was letting it all out. All her frustration and anger, her disappointment in her husband and her own stupid, ignorant choices in life, it all got out through her violent sobs.  
  
Why on earth had she ever married Ron? They were completely incompatible. How could she not have seen that before? How could she have been so blind? What should she do now? How was she ever going to fix this?  
  
It was all just too much to take; her emotions already in uproar, she just kept crying until she no longer could, until she felt there was nothing left to cry about.  
  
‘I think you found your answer, haven’t you?’ Tom said softly, petting her hair.  
  
The sound of his voice comforted her. She’d no idea how long she’d lain there in his lap, crying her eyes out. All she knew was that now she was finally done, she felt empty – like her sorrows were washed away completely, and he was still there, massaging her neck, holding her. It was a cathartic experience. Eye-opening. She wanted him. Not just as a fantasy, as a distraction, she wanted Tom Riddle for real.  
  
She raised her head, turning at her waist to face him, and this time, he let her – even assisted her by holding her up around her shoulders and preventing her from rolling off his lap and onto the floor at the same time.  
  
‘Fuck me, please,’ she said hoarsely. ‘I want you.’  
  
‘I am not into sharing, Hermione,’ he said warningly.  
  
‘Me neither,’ she retorted. ‘Take me, make me yours. Please.’  
  
‘If I do, you will have to do something for me. Tonight. Without question.’  
  
‘Whatever you need.’  
  
‘You’re not concerned I am going to ask you to bail me out of here?’ he asked, eyeing her amused.  
  
Hermione merely gazed back into his eyes, watching them darken in amazement.  
  
‘Oh, I see. Unexpected,’ he muttered, his eyebrows raised. ‘Up on all fours,’ he barked, yanking her off his lap by her hair and rising to his feet swiftly. ‘I don’t think your pretty, red arse would enjoy missionary position right now.’  
  
Using her hair as a leash, he steered her back on the bed to which she eagerly complied, crawling in the position he’d told her to take while he settled behind her. This was really exciting. She’d not been able to convince Ron to try it doggy style – he’d kept nagging that it would hurt his knees. The biggest kink he got was her on top. And that was all the variation she had. So boring.  
  
‘Eep!’ she yelped when Tom tugged on her hair, pulling her flush against him.  
  
His other arm quickly wrapped around her waist, while he used his grip on her hair to tilt her head sideways and started his assault on the curve of her neck: kissing, licking, sucking. Letting go of her hair, his hands trailed over her body, noticing where she twitched and then teasing those spots more and more adamantly. Hermione felt slightly frustrated she didn’t have anything to touch, but when she tried reaching behind her, he slapped her hand away, chuckling at her disappointed groan.  
  
‘Next time,’ he breathed against her skin. ‘Tonight, you’ll keep your hands to yourself, Hermione.’  
  
His hands cupped her breasts. ‘And I will explore,’ he fondled them gently, ‘what I please.’  
  
He rubbed over her nipples: pulling, tugging and pinching.  
  
‘Ooooh.’  
  
She threw her head back; her spine arched as her brain already combined the pain with the pleasure to come, and he captured her opened mouth with a ferocious, consuming kiss. She just loved his kisses, and her content groan vibrated through her body, while his right hand index finger found her clit again. Soon, she was left panting, twisting, and wanting in desire – her inner walls clenching at the aching void. She needed him inside of her. Yet, with him pressed against her back, she could feel that he was still fully clothed.  
  
‘Pleeeassse,’ she groaned desperately, causing him to chuckle.  
  
‘You’re so wet for me,’ he whispered huskily against her skin, ‘so ready,’ he inserted a finger inside of her and rotated it around, ‘so eager to be taken.’  
  
‘Yes, Master,’ she replied slippery, ‘please ta– Oooooooh.’  
  
She could barely stay upright and wobbled on her knees as he flicked her clit while fingering her.  
  
‘Such a tight, little cunt you have, pet. I can feel you clenching around my finger. You’ll have a hard time taking me fully.’  
  
 _Oh, really?_ she thought hopefully.  
  
‘That’s what you lot all say,’ Hermione mocked daringly. There, if that didn’t set him off and made him show her how wrong she was, she was out of ideas.  
  
 _Smack._  
  
She jolted when his hand slapped her sex.  
  
‘Manners, Granger,’ he reprimanded playfully. He grabbed her bruised buttocks with both hands and pinched them, causing her to squeal. ‘Be glad I am taking my time to prepare you for me.’  
  
‘Promises, promises. All talk and no–’  
  
He growled, tossing her forward. Smiling in victory, she just caught herself on her hands before she would’ve landed flat on her face on the mattress.  
  
 _Finally._  
  
Her insides jumped in joy when she heard him unzip his trousers. She turned her head to get a look, but he caught her hair and forced her eyes forward.  
  
‘No,’ he hissed, ‘you don’t deserve to get a look of what’s coming – not with that insolent mouth of yours.’  
  
Excited, Hermione felt his tip brush against her nether regions. He was positioning himself right before her opening, making her clench reflexively in lust. Merlin, she wanted that inside of her. Now.  
  
‘I was going to take my time with you,’ he threatened darkly, making her insides curl.  
  
 _So hot._  
  
‘But now I think I’ll just fuck you hard and fast.’  
  
 _Oh yes. Who’d said anything about being careful?_  
  
Without any further warning, he grabbed both her hips and rammed inside of her, smacking against her bruised behind with his hips.  
  
‘Ooow-oooh!’  
  
She tossed her head back, shifting her hips’ position to accommodate having to take his full length inside of her. He wasn’t extraordinary long, so that wasn’t causing her any problems. But there was nothing she could do about his girth – he was a lot thicker than she was used to, and her inner muscles were stretched uncomfortably, clenching around every inch of his pulsating cock.  
  
‘How’s that, witch?’ he hissed, moving back till he was almost out and then slamming back in forcefully. ‘Any more insolent comments now?’  
  
She merely groaned.  
  
‘I didn’t think so,’ he purred, satisfied. ‘Time to teach you for good to keep that mouth in check.’  
  
And he began moving in earnest: in – out – in – out. Forcefully. Giving her no choice but to take his thrusts. The pain as his body struck her aching bottom every time he pushed back in caused her to clench harder around his cock, making it even more uncomfortable to take him. She’d not been able to relax her inner muscles at all, leaving her vulnerable and helpless as his cock touched every single cell of her walls, sending jolts of ecstasy flying over her spine to her brain. She wasn’t sure whether the balance of it leaned towards good or bad as he fucked her mercilessly.  
  
However, every time he rubbed past her G-spot, she’d vote good.  _Another thrust_. Well, perfect to be precise.  _Thrust_ **.**  Delicious.  _Thrust_. Wonderful.  _Thrust_. Amazing.  _Thrust_. Mind-blowing!  
  
‘My Lord!’ she screamed as her orgasm forced its way through her system.  
  
Those words coming from her lips nearly made him come undone as well, but he was able to control himself for several more thrusts, keeping her on the crest of her wave until he finally unleashed his load in her womb with a satisfied, elongated grunt, and they both collapsed on the bed, exhausted. 

Completely and utterly spent.  
  
xxx


	7. Birthday Gifts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to my betas: Serpent In Red and Cosettex.

**The Prisoner**   
  
**Chapter 7: Birthday Gifts**   
  
Trees, trees, trees and … dun, dun, dun … some more trees.   
  
Hermione cast another irritated glance at the coordinates burning in red ink on the envelope as she stomped through the forest—or to be exact, as she stomped through the Forest of Dean. Again. She swore if this was some elaborate practical joke she failed to catch the meaning of, she’d find a way to implode Azkaban tower on top of his precious, smug, almighty, self-absorbed, irritating, over-the-top arrogant head. Grumbling, Hermione halted when she reached the edge of a clearing—a very familiar clearing since she’d camped out here with Harry for quite some time.   
  
‘If anyone shows up with a tent, they’re dead,’ Hermione muttered, tapping with her wand against her ankle-length, woollen, pearl coat subconsciously.   
  
The tip of her wand gave off a continuous yellow glow, supplying her with enough visibility of her immediate surroundings. This Illumination Charm was a variation of “Lumos” but much more useful because it didn’t interfere with other castings you performed.   
  
She stared at both coordinates again. The one at the top was where she was supposed to go, and the one underneath stated where she was. They almost matched now, but that wasn’t telling her if she reached the end of this journey already. The coordinates had matched four times already, and every time she’d stopped and tapped the envelope with her wand, it had given her a new destination.   
  
Right now, she was becoming considerably fed up with this whole sightseeing tour of Britain’s forests she was getting. Wearing her knee-high, black-leather boots that had a stiletto heel the size of Big Ben wasn’t making her feel anymore complacent towards Riddle. No, she didn’t care that she’d placed an Anti-Tripping Charm on them, making it similar to walking on combat boots as she trotted through the rough terrain. After all that was her doing, not his.   
  
Surely, he could’ve just sent her directly to wherever the hell he wanted her to be? He’d known she would be late since she had to go to the Ministry of Magic and hand Moore his precious recipe first, after which she had to go home to change into one of his desired outfits before being able to go on this mission. So, what was the point of sending her from one bloody forest to the next one at …?   
  
She checked the time.   
  
It was almost three o’clock in the middle of the night: the Witching Hour. Perfect. Just perfect. She had to be at the office at eight if she wanted to make it to Azkaban before nine. She still had some papers to fill out and she’d promised Angolius—one of her Unspeakable colleagues—to assist him with his experiment’s set up. Apparently, she wasn’t going to get any sleep at all tonight. Brilliant.   
  
Was that a snowflake that fell on top of her head?   
  
Groaning, Hermione looked up at the clouded night sky. Sure enough, she noticed a few greyish-appearing flakes swirling down and rapidly expanding in numbers. Shivering, she pulled up the collar of her coat, wrapping the thick woollen fabric closer to herself as she cast an Impervius Charm around her, keeping the snow at bay. She could be in a nice, warm, comfy bed, but instead, she was prowling through nature again. As if she hadn’t done enough camping to last her a lifetime.     
  
Hermione came to an abrupt halt when the letters on the envelope flashed brightly, showing her she’d arrived at her destination.   
  
For now.   
  
Swearing this was the absolute last time she was going to try this, Hermione raised her wand to the envelope and cast the complex enchantment again.   
  
Not expecting anything to happen but the appearance of a new set of coordinates, she stared at the envelope when it burst into flames. Shocked, she let go. It didn’t drop to the ground; instead, it hovered in the air in front of her, forming a big ball of blue flames. There was no heat coming from it at all. Magical fires had always been a speciality of hers, and she frowned, realising there probably was no danger. Besides, she had an oddly distinct feeling she shouldn’t have let go. There was a thrumming, aching need inside her chest pushing her towards the flames. Slowly, Hermione extended her left hand closer and closer to the cold flames, while she clutched to the wand in her other hand just in case. She had no desire to become a burn victim.   
  
Yet, her fingertips reached through the flames without injury and touched what appeared to be a thick piece of something inside. Touching it made her feel at ease, joyous even. She caressed the object, trying to determine what it was before acting. It felt velvety, like some old parchments did. It was also heavier than the envelope she’d had before but still rectangular, and it had a triangle-like rim on top. Another envelope? Made from parchment perhaps, and slightly larger with more filling than before?   
  
How was that even possible? Had she done this? Riddle couldn’t do magic in his cell. All he’d done was write down the first coordinates and given her the charm on how to activate them. Somehow, this had to be her casting, even though she had no idea what happened.   
  
_Pull … pull,_ a voice in the back of her mind resonated.   
  
Her fingers clutched around the “could be” envelope, and she yanked it out, the flames disappearing instantly. She’d been right—it was an envelope made of parchment. Quickly, she flipped it around. Her heart stopped beating for a second when her eyes fell on the green Dark Mark, the snake swirling around a name printed in black ink: Madame Moirae.   
  
‘No way,’ Hermione said, stunned.   
  
Her eyes widened as she stared at the familiar, infamous name. Curiosity rose inside of her. Was she about to meet the most wanted and elusive dark witch on the planet? And he’d sent her here. There could only be one reason to send her to Madame Moirae. Her heart skipped a beat in aching excitement before her logical mind ran over what her emotions were suddenly considering a possibility. No, that couldn’t be. She knew what Madame Moirae did, what she was famous for. He’d never send her for that, would he? Shaking her head, Hermione removed the ridiculous thought from her mind.   
  
A second later, she no longer had time to contemplate on her silly ideas because the ground shook and literally opened up in front of her. She stretched out her neck to try to peek into the tiny rabbit hole but soon realised it was expanding into something much,  _much_ larger. Hermione stepped back hastily. More and more soil dropped down into the gaping, seemingly bottomless pit. The edge of it kept creeping closer to her feet, causing her to back off at an even speed with the envelope in one hand and her wand clutched in the other. Her back collided into a tree. She was about to move around it when the rim of the pit stopped moving at the edge of the clearing. Her eyes quickly swept over her surroundings. As she’d expected, the entire clearing was now one big, humungous ravine.   
  
Somehow certain she was no longer in any danger, Hermione let out a relieved breath and inched forward to look down.   
  
Then, earth swirled into the air like a weird upside down tornado of dirt, causing her to back off into the tree again. The wind blew her hair around her face; the bottom, loose pieces of her pearl coat whirled around her legs; she flung her arms around her waist protectively and watched the dirt storm in front of her with unusual clarity. Hermione didn’t feel scared at all for some insidious reason.   
  
A low rumbling noise increased in strength, becoming louder and louder, and she gasped when two pointed rooftops emerged from the pit. Astonished, Hermione watched as the dark building rose from the depths of hell in front of her, dirt falling all around it like black snow. Its build was definitely medieval with the two round towers on the side and the slightly lower, square tower in the middle. The latter contained two huge wooden doors that had to be at least four storeys high and opened at the centre. There was no knocker.   
  
Her eyes fell on the many creepy ornaments and statues decorating the castle-like building. They showed the most horrendous of scenes to deter unwanted intruders. Crows cawed at her as they landed on them. It took a while before Hermione realised they weren’t real but made out of the same black stone as the building.   
  
On each side of the doors, the wall morphed and contorted. A paw with a huge claw emerged, then another, followed by an impressive head with a big dark mane, until the entire lion became visible and roared ferociously at her. On the other side, what seemed to be a female version stepped forward, joining its mate’s roar and showing off her impressive teeth.   
  
‘Oh, shoo,’ Hermione said, waving dismissively with her wand-filled hand towards the lions, causing them to snap their mouths shut immediately. ‘I’m who called forth Madame Moirae. I mean her no harm.’   
  
Intelligent eyes reflected the glow coming from the light of her wand as they stared at her, weighing the truthfulness of her words. Yawning and turning their heads away from her, both lions sank to their bellies and lay down. When they each placed their heads on top of their crossed front paws, steps erupted from the building’s stones underneath the door, until they halted in front of her feet. A click echoed in her ears, and both doors swung open without a sound.   
  
_Great maintenance,_ Hermione thought, her eyes wandering curiously over the complete darkness behind the well-oiled doors. She couldn’t see a thing inside from her current position even though her wand-light’s reach was far beyond that. Something seemed to be blocking her Illumination Charm. It was a bit unsettling, not getting a single clue on what was beyond those huge doors.   
  
_Still, I’ve come this far …_   
  
Taking a deep breath and one last look at the envelope for support, Hermione decided to go for it and moved up the stairs while the eyes of the many stone statues followed her progress with interest. When she reached the doorway, she paused, staring into the darkness. She still couldn’t see a thing and felt slightly apprehensive about stepping into the unknown. There was no telling what was on the other side.   
  
Gathering her courage, she moved across the threshold. Immediately, her wand-light lit her surroundings. Her jaw dropped at the splendour. The hall was beyond magnificent and huge. She undid the Illumination Charm of her wand when a massive chandelier flared on, filling the hallway with a warm, inviting glow as its crystals twinkled in all the colours of the rainbow. She craned her neck to look at the ceiling, but all she saw was that impressive chandelier as if there were nothing beyond it.   
  
Hermione turned back to investigate the hall. Her eyes automatically fell on the centrepiece: a large, black marble staircase, curving up to the landing on the first floor. The individual steps just floated there, not attached to anything she could see. The black contrasted heavily with the white marble on the floor. The white, stone walls were covered with colourful, velvet tapestries, taking away some of the coldness the interior otherwise would have had. A dark wood, heavily decorated wardrobe stood on her left. Next to it were an umbrella stand with two umbrellas and a rack holding a diversity of wizarding hats and coats. It was so domestic and ordinary that Hermione grinned. This was not exactly what she’d expected after seeing the building’s intimidating exterior.   
  
Two suits of armour stood beside a door on her right, as if on guard duty.  Potted plants with bright coloured flowers took up a vast amount of the floor next to them, filling the place with a pleasant, fresh scent. Above the plants, there were shelves with countless puppets, none the same. Hermione blinked at the ugly collection; it reminded her of when she was five and her mother had collected little frog figurines until someday all their heads had miraculously exploded. If there was anything Hermione disliked, it was stupid collections without any apparent use.  Her wandhand itched to destroy the puppets.   
  
‘Oooh, a  _sole_  visitor,’ a croaky, female voice spoke up behind her, sounding surprised.   
  
Hermione swirled around, taking her attention away from her desire to blow up those puppets’ ceramic heads, too. The witch who slowly proceeded down the stairs, leaning on her staff every other step, was so much like the way Muggles drew witches in fairy-tale books that Hermione wondered if Madame Moirae had been the inspiration at some point. She had the obliged wart on her extraordinary long, hooked nose and long grey hair cascading messily over her shoulders.  A long, black dress with gradually widening sleeves and a pointed hat made the picture complete. When Madame Moirae arrived at the ground floor, Hermione realised she was taller than she seemed due to the hunched way she held her back.   
  
‘It’s not often that one person comes to visit me. The last one was around … hmmm … let me think, yes, fifty-five years ago.’   
  
Madame Moirae rubbed her prominent chin in contemplation, watching Hermione curiously before she pointed her staff at the doors, which slammed shut at the command immediately.   
  
‘This is already a drafty place, no need to let the cold in further,’ she explained loosely as she circled Hermione in a wide arc once, eyeing her top to bottom, while her staff made an audible “thump” every time it touched the floor. ‘So, child, who are you and what services do you require from Madame Moirae?’   
  
Hermione glanced at the envelope in her hand before answering, ‘My name is Hermione Granger and—’   
  
‘Interesting,’ Madame Moirae interrupted. ‘I’ve heard of you, naturally. You’re omitting your husband’s surname. Unsatisfactory marriage? Need me to place a curse on his house? Pox always have wonderful results. Or perhaps the Black Death? I haven’t had a chance to play with my Plague Potions for a while now. ’   
  
‘That won’t be necessary,’ Hermione said icily.   
  
‘Sure? Got some cursed apples, too, if you prefer to limit collateral damage?’ She turned her wrist around, and a shiny red apple appeared in her palm. ‘Guaranteed to cause a swift and horrible death or you get your money back.’   
  
‘I’m not here to curse Ron.’   
  
‘Oh,’ Madame Moirae said, her face turning utterly disappointed. ‘Then what are you here for?’   
  
‘I …’ Hermione paused, extending the hand holding the envelope, ‘I have something to give you.’   
  
The infamous witch narrowed her pale blue eyes in distrust. ‘I don’t accept packages. Sorry, dear, nothing to do with you, but bad, past experiences have ma—’   
  
Madame Moirae stopped talking abruptly when Hermione turned the envelope around and showed her the fluorescent Dark Mark. It was funny to see how the elderly witch’s expression became dumbstruck, her eyes flickering between the envelope and Hermione in disbelief.  Eagerness came next, and the envelope flew from Hermione’s hand directly into Madame Moirae’s. She opened it hurriedly, discovering a scroll of parchment and a blood-filled handkerchief. Madame Moirae started reading, while Hermione blinked at the sight of what had to be  **his**  blood on that handkerchief. She couldn’t believe her eyes.   
  
_I’m not into sharing, Granger._   
  
Holy crap! He wasn’t kidding when he’d said that. Did she really want to do this?   
  
The answer she knew in her heart was yes. She’d gone indoors after all, knowing full well what Madame Moirae was most wanted for all around the globe. She’d gone indoors  _because of that_ . The realisation gave her pause. She’d hoped it would be for this reason that he’d sent her here. But–but that was just wrong, wasn’t it? This witch was wrong, evil—her drawn commitments archaic. She shouldn’t want this.   
  
_But I do._   
  
Hermione’s mind protested fiercely, laying down all the pros and cons. But the deep, dark well of her heart thumped in joy at the idea of being controlled, of submitting to him fully. The thought was as stimulating as it was frightening.   
  
Dangerous.   
  
It was one thing to release control for a moment and another thing altogether to do it for a lifetime. Especially when the one you were releasing your control to had a tendency to abuse his power. She’d never be able to explain it to anyone that she’d agreed to this type of union. They’d never get it. How could they?   
  
Every magical law enforcement unit on the planet tried to apprehend Madame Moirae for precisely this reason and with little success. She was just impossible to locate to them, and the frustration about that flourished wildly, especially since there was nothing they could do to reverse the effects of Moirae’s potions, charms and curses. Once cast, it was permanent.   
  
_Till death do you part, literally_ .   
  
This was why Hermione knew she had to keep a clear head and really consider her options. She couldn’t just jump in because she wanted to—because this would get her out from the drag she was in—because it felt …  _right_  to marry Tom Marvolo Riddle. No, this would have far reaching consequences, the kind that wouldn’t go away with time.   
  
Ever.   
  
Still, she doubted she’d get bored with him. He was anything but predictable. And so smart. Hermione closed her eyes and swooned. His extraordinary intelligence really was his most attractive feature to her. On top of that, he was just so god damn hot. Yeah, she knew it was superficial of her, but she really didn’t care as her mind recalled his hair; his lean body; his long, slender hands; his dark eyes; that intense gaze …   
  
The moan escaped her lips unknowingly, and she opened her eyes straight away, staring red-faced at Moirae who was too busy reading to take notice. Fortunately.   
  
Hermione noted the witch had a deep frown on her wrinkled face. Was Riddle demanding something impossible? Something Moirae had issues with? Something else from what she’d considered moments ago?   
  
Disappointment flooded Hermione at the thought that things might not be as they seemed.   
  
Well, at least then she wouldn’t have to explain it to Harry. Because how could she? She envisioned the lovely talk in her mind.   
  
_‘Oh, by the way, I married your archenemy, Harry, the one who killed everyone you loved and tried to kill you over and over and over again, and who probably will do so at the next available opportunity once he gets out.’_   
  
_‘Oh, no worries, Hermione, as long as you’re happy.’_   
  
Yeah, that was how that conversation would pan out. Besides, it was one thing to divorce Ron and another thing altogether to betray Harry. And this would be a betrayal. She knew it in her heart.   
  
Unless …   
  
Unless she could help—perhaps prevent things from happening by marrying Riddle? If they were married, surely she’d be able to do something, to stop …   
  
A sour expression appeared on her face, and she scolded herself for having such delusional thoughts even for a moment, blaming society as a whole for implanting them to begin with. People didn’t change.  Men didn’t change. The rapidly expanding collection of orange outfits in their wardrobe at home was proof enough.   
  
Merlin, she’d no idea she could develop such a hatred for Quidditch in just three years’ time. She’d liked the game at Hogwarts. But Ron was just too much into it—a regular fanatic. At least Riddle didn’t seem obsessed with the sport, or was he?   
  
Frowning, Hermione realised it wasn’t exactly something that would’ve come up. Damn, she should’ve inquired about his feelings concerning this–this absolute deal breaker. Because if she had to watch and listen to one more dressed up moron, shouting obscenities through a bullhorn at the supporters of the other team, she’d go insane.   
  
‘Ms Granger?’   
  
‘Uh?’ Hermione looked up, noting that Madame Moirae had apparently finished reading and was now looking questioningly at her. ‘Sorry, I was thinking.’   
  
‘I noticed,’ Madame Moirae said calmly, gesturing to the front door which, to Hermione’s surprise, stood ajar. ‘Last chance to leave.’   
  
_Leave? To more and more Quidditch-filled evenings? Hell no!_   
  
‘I’m good right here,’ Hermione replied, certain.   
  
‘Very well,’ the dark witch said, satisfied. With another wave of her staff, the door closed with a heavy thud. ‘We shall begin then.’   
  
She thumped three times with her staff on the floor. On the third one, sparks erupted between the marble floor and the bottom of the staff, crackling around in a wide circle. The marble inside swayed, twisted and turned underneath the assault of magical energy. It was almost too bright to watch. Hermione narrowed her eyes to protect them from the flare of light that erupted when a cauldron as high as her waist emerged from the marble.     
  
‘Incendio!’ Moirae cast.   
  
As she touched the side of the cauldron with her staff, high burning flames erupted underneath, heating the entire hall quickly to a much more comfortable temperature.  Hermione stepped closer to the cauldron and peeked into it. It only contained a clear, base liquid. She looked up just in time to see Moirae flicking her staff at the staircase next. The steps swung against the wall behind the staircase, forming shelves. Once they were stationary, all types of potions bottles appeared on them. Crossing her arms in front of her chest, Hermione waited knowingly, watching potion after potion and ingredient after ingredient being tossed and stirred into the cauldron. When Moirae was about to add Diluted Fairy-Wing Draught, Hermione drew her wand and incinerated the bottle. She’d read enough about Moirae’s potions in the Unspeakable Files to know what adding that compound would mean for her.   
  
‘I don’t think so,’ she said coldly before the dark witch could open her mouth.   
  
Madame Moirae smiled. ‘He stated you wouldn’t go for that one.’   
  
‘Then why try it?’   
  
‘It was at the top of his list.’   
  
‘Tough.’   
  
‘We’ll continue then,’ Moirae said, still smiling amicably.   
  
A second potion went up in flames and a third. By now, Moirae wasn’t smiling anymore. She summoned another potion, but before it left the shelf, Hermione had already blown it up.   
  
‘Insolent child,’ Moirae hissed. ‘You should feel privileged the Dark Lord is granting you the honour of becoming his wife. Many witches would’ve given up their right hand to be where you are today.’   
  
‘And have it replaced by a silver one that strangles you when you don’t comply? I think I’ll pass on that honour,’ Hermione snarled sarcastically.   
  
‘Well, you just did because that was the last choice on his list.’ Madame Moirae seemed positively annoyed.   
  
‘I thought it might be,’ Hermione replied calmly. ‘Why don’t you show me all the possibilities, and I will pick the one I am okay with.’   
  
A snort erupted from Madame Moirae’s lips. ‘I owe  _him_  the favour, not you, dear. You’ll pick one of the four now or I’ll pick for you.’   
  
‘You’re doing this as a favour?’ Hermione asked, ignoring the threat.   
  
‘Yes.’   
  
‘How much does a service like this normally cost?’   
  
‘Nothing the likes of you could afford.’   
  
‘Try me,’ Hermione said, staring at the witch with determination spread all over her features.   
  
‘Flagrate!’ Moirae cast.   
  
Five digits appeared in the air next to the gleeful witch who seemed certain there was no way Hermione would be able to match that number. Blankly, the bushy-haired witch took in the number and then opened her coat, drawing a thick sachet from its magical inner pocket and tossing it to Moirae.   
  
‘I trust you’ll find it sufficient,’ Hermione stated calmly, while the astonished Moirae checked the contents of the sachet.   
  
‘So it would seem,’ the dark witch said, closing the sachet hesitantly. ‘However, I fear that this is not an option.’   
  
There was clear reluctance in the hand that held out the sachet back towards Hermione. She reckoned it had to be related to the decreasing numbers of customers that required Moirae’s services these days.   
  
‘Why not?’ Hermione inquired, placing her hands on her back.   
  
‘Do I look like I have a death wish, child? The Dark Lord required a certain union of me under specific terms. I’m not going to look over my shoulder in fear for the rest of my life for any amount of money.’   
  
‘He won’t come after you.’   
  
Moirae snorted. ‘Oh, come on. From what I’ve heard of you, Hermione Granger, you’re an intelligent witch. Surely, you’re not delusional enough to think that prison they created for him will hold him forever.’   
  
Hermione shook her head slowly. ‘You’re not listening properly,’ she said quietly. ‘ **I**  guarantee that he won’t come after you ever again. How’s that?’ She tilted her head daringly.   
  
Madame Moirae became positively still, the wheels of her mind turning and turning.   
  
‘Now I know what he sees in you,’ she finally said, smirking. ‘You have a deal, dear. Here’s the complete list.’ She turned her wrist around, and a list popped out of thin air. With a wave, she sent it flying over to Hermione. ‘Let me know when you’ve chosen.’   
  
While a humming Moirae ruffled through the contents of the sachet, Hermione was rapidly going over the list.   
  
‘Ugh,’ Hermione snarled as her eyes flew over several conditions that were beyond out there. ‘Oooh, you’ve got to be kidding me.’ She looked up at Madame Moirae who was waiting patiently until she was done. ‘Was number fifteen on his list?’   
  
If it were, she’d kill him slowly. She wasn’t into bestiality.   
  
‘No, three, one, six and eight were his. In that order.’   
  
Fine, he could live another day.   
  
Actually, as her eyes moved over all the conditions of all the magical bonds to be wedded under, six and eight were surprisingly reasonable compared to what else was on it. But Hermione wasn’t looking for reasonable, she was looking for that one choice that would best suit and protect her. She snorted when she read the beginning of number twenty-two.   
  
_“22. The wizard will forego all autonomy to his witch, relinquishing all material and immaterial items to her care. He will not speak unless spoken to. He will do all chores she hands him without question and delay. His body is there to satisfy her needs, and as such, he will not be allowed clothing at any time, unless his witch deems it necessary.”_   
  
Hermione didn’t even read the rest of it. She was in a fit of laughter, imagining the look on his face if she’d pick this one and had to tell him he’d have to walk around naked twenty-four seven.   
  
_Hmmm … nude Tom, yummy_ .   
  
For a while it was a very tempting image, and she daydreamed about the idea of his nude body (which she still hadn’t seen!) at her disposal all the time.  Then, she moved on, sure it would inevitably lead to her mutilated, dismembered, dead body being discovered in the woods someday.   
  
Still grinning, Hermione read the last number, twenty-five.  It was another “mild” bond, making her wonder about the logic or lack thereof in this list. Scrolling back to numbers eighteen and seven, she compared them vigorously. In the end, she figured seven was slightly better and picked that one.   
  
‘Seven,’ she said out loud, holding out the scroll to Madame Moirae.   
  
The woman’s eyebrows raised in surprise. Seven clearly hadn’t been on her lists of choices Hermione would pick. ‘Seven? Are you certain about that one?’   
  
‘Absolutely, one hundred percent positive.’   
  
‘Haven’t had a seven in five centuries,’ Moirae said to herself as she whisked her staff to the potions again. ‘Nobody dared.’   
  
Two bottles flew towards the bubbling cauldron, turning upside down and releasing their contents simultaneously. The two streams spiralled around each other as they sank towards the cauldron’s contents slowly—as if gravity didn’t exist. With a snap of Moirae’s fingers, the ladle stirred: three times clockwise, two times counter clockwise.  It repeated that motion until the ladle suddenly dissolved.   
  
‘Your hand, please,’ Moirae said, beckoning to Hermione to join her at the cauldron.   
  
They stood face-to-face when Hermione placed her hand in the witch’s above the bubbling potion.   
  
‘I will need your wandhand for this one,’ Moirae corrected.   
  
After Hermione pocketed her wand, she gave the witch her right hand. Moirae turned Hermione’s wandhand around—palm up—and grabbed a tight hold of her wrist. Next, her staff rapidly shrunk, shifting into an oddly coloured knife. When she placed it against Hermione’s palm, she said, ‘Last chance to change your mind about seven. ’   
  
‘Just get on with it,’ Hermione responded, slightly annoyed she had to wait for the cut. It only enhanced her anxiety. She might have picked this number, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t aware what was at stake and how badly it could go wrong if she were mistaken about her abilities to control it.   
  
‘Very well,’ Moirae said at the same time she sliced open Hermione’s hand.   
  
The cut was deeper than expected, and Hermione cried out in pain, trying to pull her hand away but finding the elderly witch stronger than she seemed. Or perhaps magic was involved? For her hand was now turning a quart by itself.   
  
‘Make a fist and keep your hand low,’ Moirae ordered. ‘We’ll need quite a bit of your blood for this one.’   
  
Hermione complied, occasionally stretching her fingers to stimulate the blood flow to her hand. It seemed to work quite adequately by her judgement, for she saw a steady flow of blood leaking into the potion.   
  
‘I’m getting light-headed,’ Hermione said after a while, pressing her eyelids together and moving the muscles in her face to feel she was still consciously there.   
  
‘Only a little bit more,’ Moirae coaxed. ‘Yes, just a few more drops. Get ready to open your hand on my mark. That’s it. Now.’   
  
Hermione opened her hand, and the “knife” got pressed against the wound. Moirae chanted in a sing-song voice, closing the wound instantaneously. When she let go of Hermione’s hand, the bushy-haired witch inspected it right away. There wasn’t even a scar. Impressive.   
  
_Plop._   
  
The blood-stained knife landed in the potion and shifted back to a staff. Moirae grabbed it with both hands and began chanting again, this time with her eyes closed. Hermione watched quietly from the side, witnessing how the potion turned from one colour to the next, moving through the entire visible spectrum and back again.   
  
Suddenly, the potion in the cauldron stopped bubbling. The surface turned still, a silent plane without any wrinkles. A tiny cup, which couldn’t contain more than one sip, rose from the liquid without disturbing the peace. It hovered in front of Hermione.   
  
‘Drink.’   
  
Hermione sighed, grabbing the cup that reminded her of a child’s tea set and downing the liquid in an instant. The cup vanished the moment the potion was in her system.   
  
Moirae raised her staff and plunged it back into the potion, thumping three times against the bottom of the cauldron. Sparks flew from the cauldron, electrifying the air around them.   
  
‘Get ready,’ Moirae warned as she held Riddle’s blood-stained handkerchief above the potion, ‘this is going to be one hell of a ride.’   
  
Hermione braced herself when it dropped in the cauldron, but nothing she could’ve done would’ve prepared her for this. It was like standing at ground zero of a magical explosion unlike she’d ever witnessed. In the far away distance, she could hear the boisterous laughter of Madame Moirae as power beyond Hermione’s wildest dreams swirled through the air around her. The pressure was tremendous. She couldn’t see, couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. A scream formed in her throat, unable to come to completion. Her head–her head, it felt like it were being squished in a vice. This had to stop.   
  
_Now._   
  
Oh god, what had she done? Why had she chosen this? She couldn’t hold it. Panic flooded her like a tidal wave, right before she blacked out and crashed to the ground.   
  
As if it were what it had been waiting for, the potion immediately flew from the cauldron and entered Hermione’s body through every orifice available, dragging all the power in the room into her until it all turned silent. Madame Moirae stood still, leaning on her staff while the hall around her turned back to its previous shape as it had been when Hermione had first entered the castle. When all was back to normal, Moirae let out a relieved breath and stepped towards the motionless body on the ground, looking down satisfied.   
  
‘Well, well, well, such a powerful, little witch, no wonder she’s caught his eye,’ Moirae muttered to herself as she poked Hermione with her staff, transporting her to one of the guest bedrooms.   
  
xxx   
  
Hermione yawned, curling into a tiny ball underneath the soft sheets. She felt well rested and extremely relaxed as the sun shone comfortingly on her face.   
  
_The sun!_   
  
She jumped to a seated position, dropping the covers. Oh no, it was broad daylight outside. She was late for work and … where the hell was she? Staring around the unknown bedroom and trying to ignore the puppets with their out-of-proportion, ceramic heads that stood on every available flat surface, Hermione’s memory of what she’d last done came back. She’d passed out in Madame Moirae’s hall, so this had to be one of her bedrooms. The décor certainly fitted.   
  
But where were her clothes? What time was it? She had to get up and leave.   
  
Hermione was about to swing her legs over the edge of the bed when a squeaky voice spoke out loud.   
  
‘Mistress Riddle is awake. How can Winmar assist Mistress?’   
  
Hermione yelped and pulled the covers back over her naked body when she realised she wasn’t the only one in the room anymore. Where on earth had that short, fat-bellied house-elf come from?   
  
‘Ermm …. Ermmm…’ Hermione mumbled, red-faced, watching Winmar’s pointy ears drop, ‘where are my clothes?’   
  
Immediately, the ears perked up again at receiving instructions. ‘Mistress’s clothes are in the wardrobe. After Winmar removed them from Mistress’s body last night to prepare her for bed, Winmar washed, dried and ironed them all night long—used new fabric softener, too. Smells like spring breeze.’   
  
‘Oh, thanks, I guess,’ Hermione said, not having the heart to tell him she didn’t appreciate being unclothed by strangers and that her dress was dry-clean only. She hoped it wasn’t ruined.   
  
Oh Merlin, it had washed her clothes. She had to check the contents of her coat. Apart from several sachets of money, she had quite a large stash of classified Unspeakable items and weapons hidden in various magical pockets. Well, one didn’t go unprepared on anything Tom Marvolo Riddle sent them out to do. That coat had basically turned her into an army of one. She just hoped the house-elf had followed the credo of its race and put everything back where it came from.   
  
‘Ermm …  I need to get dressed so could you give me some priva— Eep!’   
  
An unknown force yanked her out of bed when the house-elf snapped his fingers. As she hovered horizontally in mid-air, her arms were abruptly tossed above her head as if she were planning to dive into a swimming pool. The brief discomfort of being unable to cover herself up was quickly replaced with a feeling of relief when her periwinkle blue, strapless dress flew over her arms and head. The dress pulled itself down around her body, zipping up immediately when it was in place. Next, her stockings and boots slid back on. Her bracelet, watch and necklace followed suit. However, the wedding ring Ron had given her was conspicuously absent.   
  
Another snap of Winmar’s fingers and she landed on her feet, wobbling as she fought to regain her balance.   
  
‘Where’s my coat?’ Hermione asked frantically. It worried her that it hadn’t been put on her body, too.   
  
‘On the hanger next to the door,’ Winmar replied, pointing.  As Hermione paced to her coat, Winmar added, distressed, ‘But surely, Mistress Riddle wants to eat breakfast first?’   
  
_Mistress Riddle, that will take some getting used to._   
  
‘I’m late for work already,’ Hermione said soothingly, as she ruffled through the pockets and found everything was still there.   
  
‘Mistress is not expected at work today. Mistress called in sick.’   
  
‘What!?’ Hermione swirled around. ‘I didn’t owl anyone.’   
  
‘Winmar owled for Mistress. Mistress needed to rest and recover from number seven. Winmar made sure she wasn’t missed.’   
  
‘Tell me you didn’t use the name Riddle,’ Hermione said, panicking.   
  
‘Of course not. Mistress Riddle needn’t worry. Winmar knows and obeys Mistress Moirae’s rules. Marriage must not be detected before full consummation.’   
  
‘Oh no, the Marriage Scrolls,’ Hermione said, dropping her head in her hands. She’d planned to go back to the Ministry of Magic immediately afterwards and intercept them. It was obviously too late to do that now.   
  
‘Winmar stated Mistress Riddle needn’t worry. Marriage Scrolls will always be put under a Temporal Restraining Jinx to avoid premature detection. It will take a full week before they arrive at the Ministry. However,’ Winmar looked down sadly.   
  
‘However what?’ she asked, concerned.   
  
‘Mistress Moirae can’t stop divorce date from appearing on modern marriage scrolls. Divorce is beyond her reach. We do not understand the concept of the magic behind it. So, Winmar stole it for Mistress Riddle,’ the tiny creature said proudly, holding out Hermione and Ron’s official ministerial wedding document to her.   
  
“Terminated, December 31st 2002” was stamped all over it in blocks of big red letters.   
  
‘Oh, thank you,’ Hermione said, swallowing at the concept of having to put it back unseen.   
  
She didn’t want to disappoint the house-elf by informing him that nobody would’ve checked this scroll if it had just remained in the filing cabinets. Putting it back, however, was a huge hassle. Everything was done in a specific order at the Department of Magical Family Affairs and Genealogy. For her to put this scroll back, she’d have to file away all the waiting scrolls first. The cabinets wouldn’t allow access before that. And a huge pile of scrolls miraculously being filed would be noticed by the staff. She had to think of another method to solve this problem, but right now, she had bigger issues—such as Winmar owling to work for her. There were procedures to be followed when owling from an outside source, procedures designed to detect others impersonating as Unspeakable staffers. The slightest diversion from it would bring the entire department in uproar.   
  
‘What did you write in your owl to my boss?’ she asked, remembering that a calm and soothing tone would have better results with house-elves than shrieking.   
  
When Winmar explained what he’d written, Hermione shook her head, pressing her lips together in aggravation.   
  
‘They’ll know it’s not from me. Katie will—’   
  
‘Mistress’s boss already sent owl, telling Mistress to take it easy and get back when Mistress is feeling fully recovered.’   
  
‘Show me.’   
  
Winmar showed her the note, and to Hermione’s surprise and relief, it didn’t hold the code that Katie would’ve used had they realised Winmar’s owl had brought them a forged letter.   
  
When her eyebrows raised at that, the house-elf said, ‘Winmar is excellent at forgeries. Winmar can do anyone’s handwriting perfectly and knows all the world’s governments’ operating procedures. Mistress Moirae relies on it.’   
  
_Oh really? Thanks for the info. I’ll make sure to pass it along someday._   
  
‘That’s nice,’ Hermione said instead, sitting down on the edge of the bed.   
  
‘So, Mistress will stay for breakfast?’ the short-statured creature asked hopefully. ‘Winmar hasn’t made breakfast for guests in a long, _long_  time.’ His entire posture dropped in sadness at admitting that.   
  
Empathy rose inside Hermione. Now she couldn’t really say no, could she? It would obviously hurt his feelings. Oh Merlin, now he was batting his eyelashes at her, showing her big puppy dog eyes in an extremely hopeful face. Well, she supposed she needed to eat anyway, and if there was no hurry …   
  
‘I’d love to eat your breakfast,’ she said, resigning to staying a little while longer.   
  
Winmar cheered; his big belly bounced as he happily jumped on the spot several times. ‘Does Mistress prefer—’   
  
‘Winmar,’ Hermione interrupted.   
  
‘Yes, Mistress?’   
  
‘Where is my wedding ring?’ She needed it to keep up appearances, at least for a little while.   
  
‘Mistress means old or new one?’   
  
‘New one?’ Hermione asked, frowning in confusion.   
  
Winmar nodded and walked past her to the nightstand where a black velvet box—ten inch wide and four inch high—stood. He picked it up and moved back to Hermione, holding it out to her.   
  
‘Master needs to put it on Mistress before consummation,’ he said, while Hermione looked in the box briefly.   
  
‘I see,’ she replied slowly, placing the box beside her on the bed. ‘And where is my old one?’   
  
‘Mistress doesn’t know?’   
  
Hermione shook her head.   
  
Winmar shuffled uncomfortably on his feet. ‘Mistress Moirae always explains this—it’s not Winmar’s place to talk about Wizarding Matters. Winmar is only a house-elf. Winmar—’   
  
‘Just tell me, I won’t breathe a word of it to anyone.’   
  
‘Mistress Riddle promises?’   
  
Hermione nodded, displaying certainty.   
  
‘Old rings …’ Winmar looked around, his eyes shifting nervously around the room, ‘all type of rings interfere with Marriage Magic of the Olde, even ones from modern day marriages. Their circle represents eternity and can therefore not be broken easily. When a marriage is happy and based on love, they’ll always prevent a new bond being formed unless they are destroyed beforehand. Not even Mistress can overpower that kind of magic. Love is too powerful a force.’   
  
Winmar swallowed as if he’d given up a huge secret, which Hermione supposed he had. When he stared at the standing lamp longingly, as if contemplating on smashing it against his head, Hermione took a hold of him.     
  
‘And when a modern marriage isn’t happy or loving anymore?’ she asked curiously.   
  
‘Then the new bond will obliterate the rings until there is nothing left.’   
  
_Rings? As in both of them!?_   
  
‘You mean Ron’s—my former husband’s—ring is gone, too?’   
  
Winmar nodded quietly, and Hermione let go of him, leaning back in shock. She could’ve explained away her missing ring easily, but if Ron’s was gone, too, well, he wasn’t completely daft. He’d know something was up, maybe not what, but he’d have enough information to go on and an entire Auror Department at his disposal to find out the truth.   
  
_Oh dear._   
  
Perhaps she could transfigure something to appear like her old ring? Would it even be allowed by her new bond? She was about to ask Winmar when loud noises reached her ear.   
  
**Bang – bang – bang.**   
  
‘Winmar bad elf, bad elf.’   
  
**Bang – bang – bang.**   
  
Hermione flew to her feet and pulled the house-elf away from the standing lamp he had been using as a battering ram on his head.   
  
‘It’s all right, Winmar. You didn’t do anything wrong.’  _Apart from telling me the details about your skills in fooling the governments._ ‘I needed to know this or I’d be found out and prevented from completing Madame Moirae’s work. Now, she wouldn’t want that, would she?’   
  
Winmar tilted his head and nodded. ‘Thanks, Mistress,’ he squeaked, rubbing his aching forehead.   
  
‘Winmar, would it be possible to wear a fake wedding ring once I’ve put on the new one?’   
  
He shook his head. When he saw Hermione’s disappointed expression, he said, ‘Mistress could use a Glamour on the new one to appear like the old. That works. I heard Mistress Moirae advise the Manda—’ Immediately, he slapped his hand in front of his mouth and struggled to get back to the lamp.   
  
‘No, Winmar,’ Hermione said, strict. ‘I order you not to hurt yourself. I didn’t hear a thing. Okay?’   
  
He nodded thankfully.   
  
‘I think I will like that breakfast now,’ Hermione added, smiling brightly, ‘if you could show me where I can brush my teeth and freshen up first?’   
  
Winmar’s face brightened, and he hurried to show her the bathroom door that Hermione had already spotted on her first glance through the room.   
  
‘Winmar made everything ready for Mistress in here. Mistress will be pleased, yes?’   
  
Hermione rose and checked out the bathroom. ‘Very pleased, Winmar, thank you. If you could excuse me, then?’   
  
‘Mistress doesn’t need assistance?’   
  
‘Mistress prefers to wash her privates in private,’ Hermione replied, wanting to slap her forehead for mimicking the third person use. ‘ **I** ’ll come down to the dining room in a couple of minutes. Where is it?’   
  
‘The dining room is down the stairs, first door on Mistress’s left. Mistress Riddle can’t miss it,’ the elf said excitedly.   
  
When he was finally gone, Hermione hurried to her coat. Ruffling through its pockets, she discarded several of the newest Unspeakable Tracking Items and settled for a simple Muggle GPS locator device. Hermione figured that anything magical would be detected by Madame Moirae or else she would’ve been apprehended years ago.   
  
Now … where to put it?   
  
Swiftly, her eyes roamed the room. A smirk crossed her face when they fell on the ugly puppets with their hideous, ceramic heads. Vengeance was sweet.   
  
Stepping to the dresser on which the biggest collection in the room stood together, Hermione decided on the blond-haired puppet with the rosy cheeks, pouting lips and huge blue eyes. It was of medium height and build and wore a wide, white dress which was decorated with pink and red hearts of different sizes and shapes. Hermione picked it up and turned it around, lifting the dress over the ceramic head to reveal the soft, sand-filled body underneath. How the puppets remained standing on that had to have a magical answer. A magical answer that she had no interest in uncovering.   
  
Swiftly, Hermione made a tiny slice in the body with her wand and stuffed the GPS locator firmly between the sand. Another wave of her wand completed her work. Satisfied there were no visible signs of tampering at all, she fondled the puppet for a moment but couldn’t feel the minuscule locator. She checked all known Detection Spells, but they came up empty, too. Placing a triumphant kiss on top of the puppet’s head for being so cooperative, Hermione put it back from where it came. She made sure it was standing in exactly the same posture as before because she recalled how her mother had always been able to tell if one of her frog figurines had been moved by even a bit.   
  
_Crazy, obsessive-compulsive disorder collectors._   
  
Scowling at the collection one last time, she moved to the bathroom and quickly made herself ready for breakfast.   
  
When she finally left the old castle—after learning she was now somewhere in Kenya and would require multiple Apparitions before being back home—she smirked at the knowledge that someday she’d be able to find Madame Moirae if need be.   
  
After all, she’d only promised the witch that Tom wouldn’t come after her. She’d never said anything about herself or others.   
  
xxx   
  
Tom Marvolo Riddle was pacing to and fro in his cell. What was keeping her? Nobody should be allowed to make Lord Voldemort wait. And surely, after what he’d sent her out to do, she would be punctual, if only as an aftereffect of the terms of their union. Certainly nothing could’ve gone wrong. Madame Moirae wouldn’t dare. His wrath would be unimaginable in all its ruthlessness. The witch would know that. Moirae was anything but an idiot and knew he’d find her, no matter how long he had to wait, how many stones he’d have to turn or how many holes he had to dig. Lord Voldemort had never been an impatient man, and he would find and destroy her. Utterly and completely. Until there was nothing left but screaming ashes.   
  
His hands clenched into fists, briefly wincing at the pain in his left hand from spanking Hermione. It didn’t make him unclench his hand though—no, it made him ball his fist even tighter, savouring the pain to take his mind away from the things he couldn’t control. If ever before he’d been frustrated about being locked up, this moment was topping it. If something happened to  _his_  Hermione, he’d—he’d—’   
  
The door flew open and the object of his anxiety appeared, wearing a long, pearl coat he’d not seen before. He immediately unclenched his fists and schooled his face to show an appropriately benign expression. He could tell from her fluent motions that she’d followed his order to heal her bottom even though he’d seen the disappointed flash that had travelled across her expression. But he’d known it would be too big a hindrance for the other task he’d laid out for her to do, so he’d insisted.   
  
‘Hi,’ Hermione said, smiling broadly.   
  
_Okay, unexpected._   
  
He’d expected her to start ranting about the archaic, old-fashioned, sexist marriage he’d forced her into the moment she walked in. Instead, she was busy unbuttoning her coat as if there weren’t a single cloud in the sky. Suspicion rose inside of him. What had she done?   
  
‘Hi,’ he replied, smiling back at her.  _Sweet Salazar, this is making Lord Voldemort’s teeth hurt._   
  
His eyes widened when the coat fell open. Oh my, nice, tiny dress … why didn’t she take off that damn coat already? He wouldn’t mind watching her parade around in those heels and— She was frowning at him.   
  
‘Are you going to take it or do you prefer to gawk a bit longer?’ she asked, tilting her head daringly at him while her hand wiggled a black, velvet box in front of his face.   
  
He couldn’t help but notice that her wedding ring was missing.  _Perfect._   
  
‘I think I can do both,’ he smoothly replied, taking the box from her with a charming smile.   
  
‘Didn’t seem like it a moment ago,’ Hermione muttered, turning away as she slid the coat off her bare shoulders slowly.   
  
‘Tease,’ he commented, hearing her snort in reaction.   
  
‘Takes one to know one,’ she said, her tone light and airy.   
  
_Merlin, she is chipper. What am I missing?_   
  
He looked at the box in his hand. On the lid, it stated “MM” in gold filigree. So, Hermione had definitely obeyed his orders to the letter and fulfilled her end of the bargain even if she didn’t have to. Her promise to him was, after all, merely that: a promise. There had been no magic in play to enforce her compliance, and apparently, it hadn’t been necessary. That pleased him more than he cared to admit, so he drew his eyes back to the little witch who was putting her coat on the hanger.   
  
_Sweet Salazar, that is a really tight-fitting, tiny, itty-bitty dress, and her arse is so slap-worthy in it._   
  
Had she worn that around other men? If so, he’d have no other choice but to execute them. Eventually. He should get her to tell him about her entire night and day; that wouldn’t arouse suspicion and he’d get names. Names of those who needed to die.   
  
Perhaps that hideous tracksuit served a worthy purpose after all?   
  
Hermione turned around, and immediately, he discarded that idea for she looked positively amazing. The way the corset of the dress clung to her curves, the way it served up her breasts on a silver platter, the way the hemline of the skirt just barely reached mid-thigh, the way the lack of interruption in the fabric showed she wasn’t wearing any underwear, the way it brought out her legs as she stood on those stiletto heels, it made his cock harden in a flash. She was positively fuck-worthy, and if it weren’t for his expert skills at self-restraint, he’d have that delicious, little body of hers up against the wall servicing him already.   
  
_Perhaps later?_   
  
He’d need an excuse though—some reason why he’d be allowed to break their rules and touch her. She took a step in his direction, swaying with her hips.   
  
_Definitely later._   
  
He would think of something. He always did. He was brilliant after all.   
  
‘Well, aren’t you going to open it?’ she asked sweetly.   
  
_Too sweetly. Something’s definitely up._   
  
‘I’m admiring the view,’ he said suggestively, his eyes roaming over her body from head to toe and back to her face again. ‘Nice dress.’   
  
‘Thanks,’ she said, finally turning somewhat red to his delight.   
  
He enjoyed it when she was off balance, so he added, ‘I wouldn’t mind if you took it off, though.’   
  
‘Why don’t you open the box first, and we’ll see if it will come off?’   
  
_Okay, that sounds far, **far**  too triumphant coming from my nice, little, obedient wife._   
  
With a flick of his thumb, he unhooked the toggle of the box and opened it.   
  
For the first time in his entire life, Tom Marvolo Riddle was stunned. He stood utterly still. Motionless. Unable to utter a single word as he looked at the contents of the box and knew precisely what it meant.   
  
Number seven.   
  
xxx


	8. Something Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my betas: Serpent In Red and Cosettex.

**The Prisoner**

**Chapter 8: Something Seven**

Harry was pacing through the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, searching for his friend. Finally, he opened the shower rooms that connected to the duelling arena. Rubbing his forehead in confusion, he saw two legs sticking out from what appeared to be a magically widened drain.

'What are you doing?'

'–ay! –an … fin … it,' Ron replied, his body blocking the sound.

Harry stopped next to him and looked down, seeing his friend struggle to get back out—his legs were waving in every direction like two errant flagpoles.

'–uck! –Ellup!'

Harry flicked his wand, and Ron sailed through the air, landing on his feet. Water and dirt dripped from his hair and clothes, and he looked positively upset.

'What's wrong? Why are you crawling in there?'

'I lost it,' Ron said, holding up his left hand and wiggling his ring finger. 'I lost my wedding ring. Hermione's going to kill me.'

'Did it fall down the drain?' Harry asked, leaning forward and pointing his wand. His Summoning Charm didn't produce the desired item.

'I tried that already,' Ron said, rolling his eyes. 'I am not even sure I lost it here. I must have. I already checked my booth and the corridors and the interrogation rooms I was in. It's nowhere to be found. And I always take off my ring before duelling practise.'

'Why?'

'Why,' Ron repeated incredulously. 'Have you forgotten Moody's story about that friend of his who had his ring on during duelling practise and whose arm had to be amputated because of that?'

'Oh, that one.' Harry muffled his upcoming laughter when he saw Ron's expression. 'Well, that was really a stretch, didn't you think? Seriously, Moody had a horror story for basically everything. If you start living your life in "constant vigilance", you'll turn just as barmy as him.'

'Barmy, me? Hexed any dustbins lately, Harry?' Ron questioned knowingly.

'Great, everyone knows. Owen is such a blabbermouth,' Harry muttered. 'I wasn't aiming at them, so you know.'

'Suuuure,' Ron replied mockingly. 'You weren't aiming at the innocent dustbins. That makes it so much better.'

'At least, on my tombstone it won't say: "died a horrible, slow death after losing his wedding ring".'

'Not funny,' Ron groaned. 'I have to find it before Hermione notices. She's been scolding me every time I made it spin on the coffee table. "It's not a toy, Ronald",' he mimicked perfectly. 'But I don't get it. If it's not here, where can it possibly be?'

'Did you check underneath your coffee table?' Harry jested.

'I wasn't spinning it this morning,' Ron snapped. 'And I had it on then, didn't I?' He frowned. 'Yeah, I had to.' He turned around and looked at the area again. 'I took it off when I came in here, or didn't I? Bloody hell, why can't I remember when I had it last! I should've heard it drop. Damn ring.'

He ruffled his hands through his wet hair and abruptly dropped down on his belly again, flashing his wand at the hole he'd made in the floor.

'Oi!' Harry shouted, jumping to the side to avoid the spray of water and debris. 'Ron?'

'Yeah?' Ron looked up, halting his spell.

'Didn't you have duelling practise early in the morning?'

'Yes, I was first in line,' Ron said, groaning.

'That means many Aurors have used these showers after you,' Harry said carefully.

'I know, but you never know. I have to find it. It's got to be here. Maybe the soap made it slip off? Do you think maintenance could check the pipes?'

Pleadingly, he looked at Harry.

'Do you have any idea how many pipes the Ministry has?' Harry asked.

Ron's shoulders dropped in defeat. 'I'm never going to get it back, am I?' He glared at the drain as if it were all its fault.

'If it went in there, it's bound to be in the Thames by now,' Harry said, squatting down and squeezing Ron's shoulder for support. 'You'll just have to fess up. There is no other choice—you can't fake having it. She'll notice. I am sure Hermione will understa—'

'I can transfigure something!' Ron jumped up. 'Brilliant, Harry.' He slapped his best friend on the back and walked to the door.

'No, I didn't mean— Keep me out of it!' Harry yelled through the closing door of the shower rooms. Sighing, he flicked his wand at the drain, repairing the damage. He really wanted to be far, far away when that bomb burst.

 

xxx

The exhilarating rush that ran through her body was far better than anything she ever felt before. Not even punching Draco in the face had given her this amount of satisfaction. To her utmost delight, Riddle was still staring at the box, unmoving. His facial expression didn't tell her a thing, but the amount of time it took him to process all the consequences was a far bigger indicator of his discomfort with her choice than his expressions could ever have been. Hermione barely restraint the snort that threatened to erupt from her throat as she wondered how long he'd keep staring at the contents of that box for answers. She could practically witness the wheels of his mind turning rapidly in order to find an out she knew wasn't there.

With all her might, Hermione tried to contain her glee from showing on her face for that moment when he would look up, yet her facial muscles were frozen in a continuous upward stance of mirth. She was just having too much fun at Riddle's expense for it not to show, and she had no idea how to tone her emotions down a notch. They were running wildly on their own accord, dancing around happily, unable to contain. So, she gave up on trying to hide it from him.

'Nothing to say?' she asked tauntingly. 'A first.'

Apart from the minor rise in tension of his stance, he didn't react.

This was priceless, just priceless. Rendering the Dark Lord speechless, she was certain she deserved some Special Services Award for that.

Slowly, Tom closed the lid of the box and lifted his head, and Hermione had to press her lips firmly together to withstand the bubble of laughter that was rising to the surface from within. Her eyes, however, were twinkling in merriment. She knew she was gloating  _ **at him**_ , which probably was extremely inadvisable and something she'd scold anyone else for doing, but she just couldn't get that damn expression off her face. Oh, the joyful satisfaction of spoiling his plans. Again. It made her want to do a little dance of joy.

'Enjoying ourselves, are we?' Tom asked lightly, sending her a harmless, questioning expression.

'Very much so,' Hermione replied cheerfully.

'Hmm…' His eyebrows rose in a distinct show of surprise as he smoothly gave her something to think about. 'I wonder why.'

Hermione crossed her arms and tilted her head, egging him on nonverbally.

'Since this,' he held up the box, 'wasn't on my list.'

She smirked. 'And there you've answered your own question.'

'I see,' he said slowly, taking a step towards her. 'So, when you say "Whatever you need", you only mean it for as long as it serves your purposes.'

'Hah!' Hermione called out. 'That's not really something  _you_ have a right to be complaining about in others, is it?'

'I'm not complaining; I'm merely taking stock for future situations. Most Gryffindors take pride in being valiant and honourable. I ta—'

'Oh please, spare me the ridiculous stereotypes. I'm not in Hogwarts anymore where it's okay to define a person by one attribute alone, as if it's impossible to be brave, cunning, smart and loyal all at once. Pffttt … the stupid division of students in Houses lies at the heart of all the trouble.'

'I knew you'd agree with me on that.'

'Huh?'

'Well, I did try to burn the Sorting Hat.'

'Yeah, to "help" the students … out of the "goodness" of your heart,' Hermione sneered, recalling perfectly well that Neville had been underneath it when he'd set it on fire.

He smirked. 'If you're so aware of the "goodness" of my heart, then I am surprised you're so foolish as to disobey me.'

'And I am surprised you thought for even a second that I would go along with those things you picked out.'

His eyebrows rose. 'So, instead you picked seven, one of the oldest and darkest bonds available. My, my, what would people say if they found out?'

Hermione took a step forward and smirked. 'Irrelevant, since they're not going to find out. And don't dodge my comment about those disgusting, sexist, archaic bonds you picked that would've enslaved me fully.'

'Seven isn't all that different from the choice at the top of my list. You can't tell me you had a problem with the number three bond and then picked seven when there were two far less constraining choices available to you.'

Hermione took another step towards him. 'Don't give me that phoney innocent expression, we both know why you put those two "modern" bonds on the list and it was never for my benefit.'

'I put those two on the list because I've got enough puppets and figured you'd want to be your own person,' Riddle replied smoothly.

'You put those two on the list because they needed my permission to be created,' Hermione said, pricking him in the chest with her index finger. 'If I'd picked one of them, the entire world would be aware our marriage was voluntary on my end. You put those on there so you could gloat at Harry how he lost me, how I chose you over him, not so I could be my own person. So, cut the crap; I am not buying.'

'I see,' Riddle said slowly. 'Planning to play the victim when this comes out, wife?'

'Do you really take me for such a simpleton that you're actually going to try to make me believe I could've left Madame Moirae's clutches freely, without a bond to you having been formed?'

Subconsciously, her hands balled into fists, and she was this close to taking a swing at him. Just one more lie, one more piece of bullshit, and he'd learn all about her excellent punching skills.

Yet, he stayed silent, staring at her quietly.

It was answer enough, and she huffed. 'Knew it,' she muttered, looking away in annoyance.

Calmly, Tom closed the distance between them. His fingers lifted her chin, forcing her to look up and meet his eyes, before they disappeared into her hair, playing with her curls. Suddenly confronted with a lump in her throat, Hermione swallowed.

'I didn't force you to go to her,' he said gently. 'You went on your own accord.'

She felt a stab in her chest, knowing he was right about that.

'I made a promise, and I take my promises seriously. Besides, I didn't know where I was going and whom I was meeting,' she objected, not wanting to acknowledge that he did have a point there.

She shifted uncomfortably under his gaze, even more so when his thumb started caressing her cheek. He wasn't supposed to be touching her. They had a deal. Sure, they had to consummate their marriage, but still … he was breaking their deal  _now_. She should say something about that. She really should. And why was her heart pounding so painfully in her chest? Merlin, she just wished he would react, say something. This silence was horrible. She didn't want to think, didn't want to contemplate on her emotions. He always talked. Why wasn't he talking now? This tension was killing her. She had to say something. He couldn't just touch her, even if it felt nice, which it didn't. No, definitely not.

Hermione opened her mouth.

'I suppose …' he paused, looking up contemplatively, while Hermione's lips snapped shut, 'if you …' He shook his head, apparently deciding against something before meeting her eyes again. 'You're right.'

A shock travelled through her when she heard him admit it.

'She wouldn't have let you leave. I wanted you at my side as my wife, and I always get what I want, Hermione, one way or another.'

He caressed the side of her face with the back of his hand before walking away and placing the box on the shelf above the sink. She sharply inhaled, not moving as she tried to process his words quickly.

'Even though you …  _complicated_ my plans, I still have you.'

She turned around, facing him again.

'It won't do you any good,' she said hoarsely. 'You won't be able to use me against Harry. You won't be able to torture or kill anyone. Seven prevents you from hurting me, and it would hurt me to see that happen. You'll never be in a position of power ever again. No matter if you escape this cell. I won't allow it.'

He smiled lightly. It wasn't the reaction she'd been expecting and it was unnerving to say the least.

'I think you will,' he said, sounding even more certain than normally. 'I think you underestimate your willingness to harm others.' Ignoring her sputters of protest, he talked on, walking towards her again. 'I believe you to be far more vicious than you like to admit to yourself. I saw it in your eyes when you attempted to kill me. I heard it shine through in the stories of others about you, even though they missed it themselves. And it shows the most in the bond you picked.' He placed his hands on her shoulders. 'You're no saint, Hermione Jean … Riddle-Granger.'

She blinked.

'It's why you're so attracted to me.'

God, he was arrogant. An indignant, incomprehensible noise exited her mouth.

'If you think I would let you hurt Harry,' she snarled, 'you're even more delusional than I already thought.'

A flash of annoyance flew over Tom's face, but she spotted it nevertheless, and a sense of triumph ran through her.

'Potter's luck is cruising on being borderline absurd,' he hissed, while his fingers dug deep into her shoulders, expressing his discontent even more than his words, 'but I wasn't considering his faith just yet. I was talking about yours, wife. What were you truly thinking when you picked the number seven marriage?'

Hermione gaped at him.

'Don't act like you're ignorant,' he coldly said, shaking her. 'Answer me.'

'I—I—'

'And don't lie. You're so transparent when you do, it's insulting.'

'I was so sick of Quidditch,' she whispered, feeling her face burn red.

Merlin, what a stupid reason if ever she heard one to get married to him. What had she been thinking? She could've just divorced Ron and be done with it.

His snort interrupted her self-scolding, and she looked up, annoyed.

'What are you snorting about? You're married to a Mudblood, Voldemort. Didn't it sink in how much you sullied yourself already?'

His snort turned to outright laughter, outright boisterous laughter. What on earth was so funny? Did he not hear her correctly? Did he have memory issues? Oh, she really wanted to wipe that joyous expression of his face forever.

'Never thought you'd enjoy becoming a Mudblood's perfect spouse,' she scathingly said.

His furious snarl reached her ears immediately, and Hermione screamed in fear when he violently pulled her against him and yanked her head back by her hair.

'Don't think for a second that part of the seven bond will work in your favour, Mudblood. I'll have you grovelling on your knees, doing my bidding, before you could even dream of influencing Lord Voldemort. The only one doing any adjusting in this marriage will be you, and by the time I am done with you, you'll be precisely what I need you to be because it's exactly what you truly desire me to do to you.'

Her face paled. He was wrong. He had to be wrong. She wasn't a pushover. She'd never been.

'Let me go!' she yelled, struggling to get out of his grip. She got a few punches in but nothing that did any significant damage. And her desperate scream filled the cell when he forced her arms to her back and tightened his hold on her.

'You don't want me to.'

'You always underestimate people,' she whispered, horrified at the notion that he might be right.

His anger slowly ebbed away, yet she was unable to stop trembling in his arms.

'I'd be a fool to underestimate you, Hermione, and I am anything but,' he replied, calm and in control again. 'You're trembling.'

'I am scared.'

'That's not why you're trembling.'

'Don't—' She sniffed up her nose before resting her forehead against his chest. 'Stop analysing me. Please.'

He regarded her for a moment and then changed the subject. 'How did you get Madame Moirae to create a marriage bond that wasn't on my list? Surely, that took some serious cajoling?'

She sent him a weak smile, thankful he'd indeed stopped nagging about her feelings.

'Just money,' she said barely above a whisper, feeling herself slowly relax in his arms.

'Money?' He raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow in incredulity.

'She must have been in desperate need for some more ceramic puppets,' Hermione snarked humorously.

He snorted. 'She still has those?'

'The hall was covered in them, and the bedroom, the dining room, and everywhere else I looked,' Hermione rattled on fast, rolling her eyes. 'They cluttered up the place. And those out-of-proportion, ceramic heads, they were freaking me out. Ugly buggers.'

'I contemplated setting them on fire,' Tom responded conspiratorially.

'I wish you had.'

'I can make that happen when I get to her later.'

Hermione shifted uncomfortably in his arms. 'Er … you can't,' she whispered.

'Oh, I sure as hell can. She owed me a favour and disobeyed me. I will—'

She interrupted him quickly. 'It wasn't just money that persuaded her to let me choose.'

'Oh?'

'I—I sort of … well, I promised her  _you_ wouldn't come after her, and since that promise gets embedded into the bond, you can't.' Hermione bit her lip, waiting for the inevitable reaction to that.

Tom frowned. 'You said it exactly like that?'

'Yes.'

He smirked. 'Clever. I'm surprised Moirae didn't see the loophole you gave yourself there.'

'Well, she was focusing on the sachet filled with money at the time, so you could say she wasn't entirely there,' Hermione replied, relieved her solution was satisfactory to him.

'How did you get enough money to bribe Moirae anyway? You couldn't have done it on a government salary.'

'Trust fund. The money came free when I turned twenty-one. My parents started it when I was born, you know, for college and stuff. Obviously didn't need that now. But they still wanted me to have the money. My dad's financial advisor was good at picking the right stock, and none of this matters. You don't care about Muggle business.' She looked up. 'I've got enough money to last me a lifetime.'

'Half of it will be your ex's now.'

'Nope, prenup,' she said curtly.

'Perfect, half of it is mine then. No prenups in Madame Moirae's marriages.'

His broad smile pissed her off good. 'Good luck spending it in here,' she snidely said.

'I figured I'd have you spend it,' he said, touching the hem of her dress seductively. His fingers trailed along the fabric, tickling her skin, while his eyes slowly roamed over her body. 'Much more satisfying for me.'

Hermione hopped backwards when his fingertips darted to the inside of her thigh. 'You're not supposed to be touching me.'

'Really?' he asked, taking a step towards her. 'And, pray tell, smartest witch of your age, how are we supposed to—' He chuckled when she ducked away from his hand and bumped into the sink with her back. '—consummate our marriage without touching?'

He quickly placed his hands on either side of her body on the sink, boxing her in without touching her. Hermione's eyes flickered left and right, realising that if she wanted to get away, she had to be the one doing the touching now.

'We haven't exchanged any rings and that needs to be done before consummation. Hence, you should keep your hands to yourself till then. And just to make things clear for the future: I don't care that we're married; we have an agreement.'

'I see.'

Why did he always have to wear that expression as if he were mocking her at times like these?

'What's so bloody funny?' Hermione retaliated, irritated.

He chuckled. 'You are.' He raised his hand to prevent the inevitable rant from occurring. 'But okay, our deal stands. I'd love to see you try restrain yourself in the future.'

She huffed. 'I am not the one who can't keep their hands to themselves and who keeps undressing the other with their eyes.'

'Well, that petite dress is asking for it,' Tom replied mischievously as he stretched his arm over her shoulder and pulled the box off the shelf. She could feel the heat of his body as he nearly pressed up against her.

'So,' he said, looking her suggestively in the eye at that incredibly close distance, making her cheeks burn a flaming red, 'I suppose we should get on with it, wouldn't want to keep you in suspense about being touched.'

He moved back, box in hand, and opened the toggle of it. Hermione was still trying to regain her composure when she realised he'd slipped on his ring and was now holding out his hand for hers.

She snorted. 'Afraid of the symbolism if I'd put it on you?' she mocked, sniggering.

'That mouth of yours requires training in more appropriate uses,' he stated, shaking his head tiresomely. 'Now, give me your hand.'

More appropriate uses? Hmmm… she had a few, excellent ideas on where he could put his. She was certain it wouldn't get tired. It obviously got a lot of workouts during the day anyway.

'Hermione.'

'Huh?'

'Your hand,' he commanded.

She stared at his outstretched hand that was waiting for hers. This was ridiculous. Why was she hesitating? It wasn't like this wasn't a done deal already. Yet, this act made it seem so final. She took a deep breath and then extended her hand, placing it carefully in his. She was being stupid. It was just a ring for crying out loud. Nothing more than a symbol. It wasn't that big a deal. Only when Tom slipped it on her left hand's ring finger, she felt her stomach do a little flip-flop.

'Here,' he said, opening the lock on the collar and offering it to her.

She stared at it, confused, until she felt him gently move up her hair. His gaze was intense, dark, ordering her to do his bidding. Her mouth was suddenly dry, and she couldn't look away. He wanted her to do the deed, to acknowledge that she was his by locking his collar around her neck herself. The tension between them had turned so high, it was hard to breathe as she slowly moved the collar up and around her throat, fumbling with the locking mechanism at the back of her neck until she became hot from the exertion. It finally clicked shut, and she was about to drop her hands when his folded around hers, their eye contact intensifying as he guided their joined fingers around her collar.

'It's a bit loose,' Tom whispered hoarsely.

'So are our rings,' Hermione replied, finding it equally difficult to speak.

'I noticed that; mine is not as bad as yours though,' he said, holding up their hands and kissing her ring. 'I think I may know a solution to this.'

Abruptly, he dragged her with him to the door. His other hand flew to the doorknob and yanked open the door to his cell.

Hermione froze on the spot, wanting to dig her heels in, as if that would stop him, as if she could anchor him to the floor. NO, NO, NO! This couldn't be possible. The wards … he wasn't supposed to …

'Go to the other corridor and stay out there for a minute,' he briskly ordered, turning around and leaning against the door. Finally, he spotted her utterly white complexion and smirked. 'Ladies first,' he teased, gesturing with his hand for her to get a move on.

Hesitantly, Hermione moved, halting briefly next to him. 'You're not—'

'—supposed to be able to open the door,' he finished tauntingly. 'Careless of them, wouldn't you say, Mrs Riddle?' He slapped her behind.

'Eh!' she yelped, jumping in the air. Her eyes threw daggers at him, while she rubbed her now aching bum. That was really unnecessary.

'Told you that dress makes it positively too tempting,' he teased, smirking. 'Now, go, unless …' He flexed his hand threateningly.

She flitted away from his reach, hearing him chuckle in amusement at her sudden rush.

 _Arse_ , she thought, aggravated.

Still slightly unnerved about his ability to open the door and miffed about him just ordering her out without any good reason or explanation, Hermione stomped through the circular corridor. She passed the clenching door into the next corridor and swirled around, tossing her hands in the air as if to say  _'I'm here. Now what?'_. She just caught the obnoxious smirk on his smug face before the heavy door shut. Glaring at the rough wood as if the object of her annoyance behind it could feel the impact of her gaze, Hermione waited, placing her hands at her sides with an exasperated huff.

_Stay out there for a minute._

So, what was the stupid point of this ridiculous undertaki—

A shocked gasp escaped her lips and her hands flew to her throat when she felt the collar tighten. Afraid to get suffocated, she tried to get her fingers underneath the hard platinum and use wandless magic to get it off. Both efforts failed dramatically. It wouldn't budge an inch. Freaking out, her fingernails scratched at her skin as she clawed at the collar futilely. Dark spots sprung in her vision, and she crashed to her knees, catching herself on her hands, gasping for air.

The moment she'd stopped her attempts to take it off, the collar loosened and she could breathe again. Gradually regaining enough oxygen in her system, Hermione sat there on her hands and knees, unmoving. Her panic slowly subsided when she realised the thing wasn't trying to kill her.

Duh-uh, she should've realised that.

Riddle had nothing to gain from her death. Besides, if he wanted to kill her, she was pretty sure he'd like to witness it, feel her life force slip away and force her to look him in the eye as he laid the ultimate judgement on her.

Annoyed with her overreaction but still cautious, she sat back on her heels and raised her left hand to the collar.

As she touched it, nothing happened.

Testing the waters, she tried once again to take it off and felt it digging into the skin around her neck again. Immediately, she let go and it responded in kind.

Curious, she touched the collar again. Caressing the carvings and edge of the collar with her fingertips, she realised all it had done was become a perfect fit. Her eyes darted to her ring finger, and indeed, the same had happened to the ring. It, too, had become a perfect fit to her body. She dropped her hand and let out a relieved sigh. For a moment, she fingered the ring, wondering what would happen if she tried to take that one off and deciding she wasn't desperate enough to find out.

As she scattered to her feet, she brushed her hands through her hair and over her dress, making herself presentable again and trying to look composed. No need for him to notice she'd made an absolute fool of herself. He was smug enough as it was already.

Steeling herself, she grabbed the doorknob and walked back to his cell. He'd closed his door, too, so she swung that one open and stepped inside.

'EEP!'

Her heart flew up her throat when she got grabbed from behind and her dress got hauled up to her waist. So fast that she didn't have time to register what was happening, long fingers clasped around her arm and yanked her unceremoniously around. She tripped due to her high heels and lost her balance when her back clashed hard against the metal wall.

'Oww!'

Tears sprung in her now closed eyes when her head banged against the wall next. Her free hand wanted to fly to her painful skull, but he'd caught it effortlessly. He kicked one of her feet aside, quickly moving between her legs. Having lost her footing, she began to slide down along the wall when he hurled her up by her arm and one thigh, moving his hips forward simultaneously. Unexpectedly, she felt him enter her, filling her up fast and hard until their hips collided with a smack. He pressed himself firmly against her, pinning her effectively against the wall and quickly gathering her wrists tightly above her head. Her face scrunched together in pain, and a garbled grunt came from her lips as she dropped her head, resting her forehead in the crook of his neck. She hadn't been ready for him at all, hadn't expected him to take her so suddenly, hadn't expected him to capture her, hold her, trap her oh so easily.

He wasn't moving and neither was she. It already hurt to feel his cock pulsating inside her; she needed time to adjust to his girth. There had been no foreplay whatsoever. Well, they'd argued … and he'd been dominating … and he had her at his mercy now … completely.

Her heart started pounding. She liked this feeling. Liked it a lot. She liked how she was just dangling there, how she couldn't even reach the floor with her toes, how he'd blocked her arms from moving with his underarms, and how his hands had such a death grip on her wrists that they'd be bruised tomorrow. She was helpless, dominated wholly. He owned her now and he wanted her to acknowledge it.

Her belly pooled in need, and her inner muscles clenched around him in reflex. A groan of discomfort came from her, yet she felt herself getting wetter and wetter just by the knowledge that he was too strong for her to physically fight and that he held her oh so tightly against his nude body.

He had to have undressed when she was outside, she realised. He'd planned this the entire time. This was payback for picking a bond he'd not selected, for spoiling his plans, for protecting Harry. This was his vengeance; he was going to show her whom she belonged to, whom she was supposed to serve and obey, who was her lord and master. She whimpered when he moved, angling only his upper body somewhat away from her. The movement caused their hips to connect harder, moving his cock even farther inside, and in response, she angled her hips, wrapping both her legs around him, opening herself at his convenience. Showing him, she wasn't fighting. She was his to do with as he pleased.

'That's it, dear,' he whispered contently into her hair. 'Surrender.'

Hermione's head rose, leaning back against the cold metal as she met his dark gaze that intensified when he saw the supplication and desire in hers.

'You think you can handle all of me … "Master"?' she asked, an edge of daring in her voice.

Hermione tilted her head and raised her eyebrows questioningly when she noticed the interruption her taunt had caused in his breathing.

Touché, she grinned.

A grin she quickly removed off her face when he leaned forward and brought his face so close to hers that she knew she was going to drown in those dark eyes of his. She couldn't look away. His gaze demanded her full attention, made her swallow the lump that had formed in her throat due to the darkness it beheld. The wicked acts they'd seen, had commanded. Their noses were nearly touching; his lips brushed hers lightly as he whispered oh so gently:

'Do you think it's wise to challenge me in your current position, Mrs Riddle?'

Her new surname slithered from his lips, wrapping around her body with the unspoken promise of debauchery, pain and ecstasy to come. It brought about a shiver from head to toe, and she could feel him smile, pleased at her reaction.

'Well, I think you kind of placed yourself in an impossible situation, Mr Riddle,' she whispered back, copying his tone of voice as she deliberately blew her breath against his lips.

'Is that so?' he replied, capturing her lower lip between his teeth and licking it as he pulled it to him, calmly examining every inch of it with his mouth.

She sharply exhaled, closing her eyes to feel the tingling sensations even more. Damn, he even knew how to tease with a kiss. She wanted more, so much more. Opening her now deviously twinkling eyes, Hermione breathed:

'Did you not consider that there is no way you can fuck me in the manner you're holding me now?'

She sniggered when he leaned back, taking in their current postures with that blank mask firmly plastered on his handsome face.

'If you try to move inside me, I'd most likely drop somewhat and …' Hermione snorted and then laughed at the visual in her mind's eye, 'you'd—hahaha—you'd probably bre—hahaha—break your—hahaha— equipment, husband.' She met his eyes, wanting to give him a smug, victorious expression and failing miserably when she couldn't keep her cool and continued laughing again. 'EEP!'

Panicky, she grabbed a hold of his shoulders when he'd suddenly let go of her wrists and she felt herself slip sideways. His long-fingered hands curled around her thighs, and his fingertips dug deep into her skin.

'You were saying, wife?' he replied triumphantly. Demonstratively, he moved out and thrust back in forcefully.

Her head lolled back and her mouth formed a tiny 'O'.

'No insolent comments now?' he added, while he picked up the pace and began pounding into her in earnest.

Tiny, little whimpered moans were her response to his actions, and her arms wrapped tighter around his shoulders, trying desperately to steady herself. Hermione tilted her hips, drawing him in farther with her legs, meeting his thrusts with equal vigour. Her breaths came out hampered; her face was flushed; perspiration formed on her forehead and above her lips; and her pupils had dilated.

'Harder,' she groaned.

'My pleasssure,' he hissed, pulling himself out farther before pushing back in at full force. He rolled his hips, stretching her inner walls as he caressed every inch of them. She twitched and shuddered in his arms, making the most beautiful noises of surrender he'd ever heard coming from her impudent mouth. She was his. And she would beg, beg for his mercy. Today.

However, he wasn't a lenient man by any standards, and he had no intention whatsoever to change that today. She'd feel his wrath, embrace it, take it, for as long as he wished. He planned to fuck her on every inch of surface this cell had to offer. She was Lord Voldemort's property now, and she'd better deliver or he'd be less than … 'pleased'. His hands slid up to her round arse, squeezing her cheeks harshly, as he fucked her up against the wall, not caring that her back was turning red from the friction. The only problem was that she didn't seem to care either. On the contrary.

'Is,' she breathed, 'this,' another couple of heavy breaths, 'all,' breath, 'ooooh,' breath, 'you,' breath, 'got?'

Somewhere in the back of his frazzled mind, the insult connected and he growled, capturing her mouth and ravishing it. Hermione met his tongue eagerly, battling with him; there was no other description—he knew he had to make her yield. This fiery witch was not going to submit without a fight. It certainly got his blood pumping. He'd not had a sufficient challenge in … well, ever.

Of course, if he'd been able to do magic, she wouldn't have stand a chance. She'd be writhing under his wand, unable to escape the overwhelming pleasure as he'd overload every single nerve cell in her body at once.

Alas, he had to take a slower route now. Still, his knowledge of pain and pleasure points in the human body was unmatched—something his clever, insolent, little wife was about to find out. She'd pay tenfold for every disobedient word that came out of her mouth tonight. She just didn't know that yet. And he was by no means inclined to warn her.

Finally, he could feel her give in; she began following his tongue's lead in their kiss, and he relished in his victory before he moved on, trailing her skin with his lips, sucking the curve of her neck (hearing her moan in reaction), licking her ear (which made her legs jerk). Then, his cock hit that sensitive spot inside of her when he rotated his hips again; he could tell by her body's reaction, the way her sex had abruptly contracted around him and the incomprehensible noises that escaped her. Smirking triumphantly, he targeted that area relentlessly, while his mouth found hers again. He wanted to devour this witch completely.

He chuckled inside her mouth when he felt her tense right before her first orgasm rushed through her body. Tom leaned back to watch her feelings flash over her face as he continued to stimulate her sensitive areas to keep her on the crest of that wave for as long as possible. When she ended with a tired sigh and that content, sated expression became prominent, he grinned wickedly. If she were tired now, she'd be beyond exhausted later.

He was nowhere near done with her yet.

 

xxx

As they were lying on the floor, their entangled bodies glistening in the bright light of the cell, Hermione didn't feel like moving at all. She just wanted to lie there on her side and sleep in his arms. No matter that the floor was hard and cold. No matter that she was naked and sticky and the inside of her thighs were covered in his cum. No matter that every inch of her body ached. She was going to sleep right here, right now. Demonstratively, she closed her eyes. However, Tom stirred behind her, pulling her body closer to his.

What was that against her back?

That better not be what she thought it was.

'Go away,' she mumbled barely audibly. 'Or I'll chop it off.'

Hermione groaned when her aching body shook because he was chuckling in reaction to her threat. She didn't understand what was so funny. She was dead serious and didn't care anymore whom she was threatening: Dracos, Mariettas, Rons, Lord Voldemorts, all tarred with the same brush as far as she was concerned. Hermione's mind had shut down a long time ago. She'd lost count how many times he'd made her come as he'd fucked her almost everywhere imaginable.

He'd fucked her up against the wall and on top of the sink; the latter had been really uncomfortable and scary because she'd been worried it could cave any second. He'd laid her over the ridiculously low table, and she'd wondered if he had any feeling in his knees left after that—she hoped not. He'd taken her on the floor, at another spot on the floor, hanging over the iron bars of the bed and again on the floor in the 69 position. This had somehow turned into a match that she'd also lost as she'd climaxed with a violent ejaculation when he'd spread his fingers inside her like scissors while sucking on her clit expertly. He'd made her stand, lean forward to grab her ankles, and then he'd fucked her from behind until her legs had caved; she'd crumbled onto the floor, which had inspired him to fuck her there again and was how he'd ended up spooning her now.

And still, the bastard was becoming hard. Again.

Fucking hell, what did a girl have to do to get him sated?

Her insides were raw; every single one of her muscles ached; she couldn't move a single limb anymore; her throat was hoarse from screaming; and she was beyond exhausted.

_I'm cooked; stick a fork in, honey, I'm done. Merlin, absolutely no more._

Now, he was stroking her arm and nibbling on her shoulder. Maybe if she just ignored he was there?

 _Yeah, that will help_ , her mind snarked.

Her body twitched when his fingertips danced lightly over her side. That felt really nice. She closed her eyes with a sigh, but they snapped open abruptly when she felt him move to lower grounds. Her hand flew and grabbed his wrist just as he was slipping his fingers between her folds. It was like a moment frozen in time—neither moved or spoke. Tension rose between them. She could sense he wasn't pleased at all with her action by the stiffness of his body behind her. Yet, she was certain she couldn't take any more of this. How was she going to make that acceptable to him?

'Please,' she whispered, 'I can't. Please … my Lord; I'll do anything … just not … not that again, please.'

He remained silent, unresponsive to her pleas.

Hermione turned her head, wanting to meet his eyes. 'Please,' she begged, searching his face for a reaction. He just stared coldly at her. 'Please, Master.'

'Anything?' he asked, propping his hand under his head.

There was something in his face and tone of voice that made her pause. The way he'd spoken the word sounded like he'd broadened the range far beyond what she'd originally intended. She'd already fallen for this once—she wasn't making any more limitless promises to him.

'Within reason,' she added cautiously.

'Within reason,' he slowly repeated as if he were trying out the words. 'Hmmm… do you think you're in any position to make demands, Hermione?'

Turning quite cold, she scrutinised him. There had to be something he wanted that she'd be willing to give.

'Maybe,' she replied, leaning in for a kiss.

Their lips met, and they softly explored each other. This was a gentle kiss unlike the frenzied ones they'd shared before. It was really nice, and she closed her eyes, giving into it fully. To her relief, she felt his hand move away from her core, stroking over her belly, her breasts all the way up to her throat where he trailed her skin along the edge of the collar.

'It fits perfectly now,' he spoke huskily against her lips.

'Mmm-mmm,' she agreed absentmindedly, continuing their kiss.

'It suits you.'

She glared at him for the interruption. 'Do you always need to talk?'

Amusement flickered through his dark eyes. 'Only when things are unclear to insolent, little witches.'

'I'm not the one always making the same mistake over and o—mblmmm'

As he silenced her with another kiss, he rolled her onto her back and placed his leg over hers, leaning against her body as he remained laying on his side. His fingers disappeared into her hair and he grabbed a fistful of curls before breaking off the kiss.

'That tongue of yours needs to be reined in, wife,' he snarled, while putting more pressure on the roots of her hair.

'Why don't you  _do_ something about it then, husband,' she taunted.

Roughly, he pulled her head back by her hair, causing a groan to erupt from her mouth as he simultaneously rolled on top of her. His tongue trailed her skin along the collar's edges back and forth, until his head rose and he met her eyes. She could tell by the flicker of entertainment that ran through them he was enjoying her play a lot. Normally, he had a far better control of his emotions than to show them that blatantly to her. The thrill that gave her was tremendous.

'I already have done something, my little Mudblood—that's what I was trying to explain to your impertinent mind before you dared interrupt Lord Voldemort.'

Hermione bit her lip, holding in the snort, before she eyed him daringly and sweetly said, 'And do you think Lord Voldemort would be able to explain it  _without_ using the entire contents of the Oxford Dictionary in his speech?'

'Well, I might if my audience were sufficiently intelligent enough to grasp the meaning of three simple words,' he replied, being condescending deliberately.

'Which would be?'

'You,' he nibbled the skin around her collarbone, 'are,' his mouth moved up her throat to her jawline, 'mine.' He captured her mouth forcefully, while his hands moved over her body.

Hermione arched against him; a long, elongated moan vibrated between them. They stared heatedly at each other when he moved back, breaking off the kiss. He took a hold of her hand and pulled it up, fingering her wedding ring.

'As is—'

'Oooh, for a second, I thought you would actually succeed,' Hermione mocked, sniggering.

He placed their joined fingers on her mouth warningly, and she silenced; her held-in laughter was still shaking through her body.

'Did you look at the rings and collar, Hermione?' Voldemort asked softly. 'Really look?'

Her brow furrowed, and she gave him a confused look before her eyes flickered to their joined hands. It hadn't escaped her notice that his was still somewhat loose while hers was a tight fit now. It had to be the magic-suppressing wards that inhibited Madame Moirae's bond to become fully operational for him— Oh fuck, she'd not been safe at all. Not one single moment. He could still hurt her. Seriously hurt her.

'I take it by the sudden paleness of your skin and your fearful expression you realised your tiny folly,' he teased in a gentle voice. 'However,' he stroked her hair, 'so far …' he paused for a moment, 'you have pleased Lord Voldemort, Hermione. I have no intention to harm you and I always take excellent care of my … property.' He stroked her throat with the back of his hand. 'Now,' he said, turning more business-like, 'I wasn't talking about this though, when I wondered if you examined Madame Moirae's jewellery.'

There was something else? Unbelievable. Damn.

Immediately, she concentrated back on what she could see, the rings. They were simple platinum bands. No stones adorned them, but there were decorative carvings on them. She'd not thought much of it since, well, it was a bit late to be concerned about the rings afterwards, but now she wondered if there were some hidden meaning to those carvings.

'There is,' Voldemort's soft voice whispered.

Shocked, she looked up. 'You can do Legilimency? Here?' She looked around the cell, frantically. This wasn't good at all. He'd opened the door, too, and now this?

'Relax, Hermione, I'm not using magic. Your face is an open book at times. I don't need Legilimency to deduce you were wondering about the decorations on the rings.'

Hermione stared at his face, willing to see the truth there. However, no matter how harmless his expression was, she wasn't buying. She would have to look into the 'door-opening-for-him' incident first thing she was back at her office. Right now, she'd focus on the issues at hand.

'I was …' She stared at the intricate carvings. 'It looks beautiful. I—I just thought it was decoration.' She shrugged. 'I didn't think it would mean anything.' She glanced at him questioningly.

He nodded seriously. 'It's a language,' he explained, watching her brow rise and her eyes flicker back to the rings with some concern.

'A language?' She frowned, now rolling her ring around her finger to investigate further. 'I've never seen such–such … erm … "letters" or "symbols".'

Those words felt completely inadequate to describe the fluent lines on her ring, but she had no other words for it; the best way to describe it would be shorthand, but that wasn't nearly as elegant as this.

'You wouldn't have. There are only a few ancient documents in Parseltongue, and they're all in the custody of the Egyptian Ministry of Magic.'

_Parseltongue?_

Puzzled, she looked at her ring again. This was in Parseltongue, why? Madame Moirae wasn't a Parselmouth. To say she wasn't thrilled about this development would be an understatement.

'What does it say?' she asked timidly.

Voldemort held up her hand and, as he rolled her ring around, words slithered out of his mouth in a fluent hiss, almost like they wrapped around her, coiling and uncoiling. She blinked, eyes turning unfocused. So, that was how it was supposed to be pronounced. It sounded so much more forced and hideous when Harry had spoken it. Not to mention that time she'd waited and waited and waited for Ron to get that one word right.

Yet, this—the way Voldemort pronounced the syllables—was something else: sensual and sexy. She wasn't ashamed to admit that it turned her on big time. Too bad he was finished so quickly. She wouldn't mind if he continued a bit longer. It had sounded so hot.

And there was no spitting either this time, she noted; she'd always found that rather disgusting.

He was now staring at her with a knowing smile, and she realised she'd just been unresponsive, breathless.

'Er … What di-did that mean?'

She could slap herself for her telling stuttering and turned even redder.

'It's merely our full names and the date and time of our marriage.'

Thankful that he wasn't teasing her, she went into her usual, inquisitive mode. 'That's my name in Parseltongue, where?' she asked curiously, scanning the ring.

'Here,' he answered with a smile, turning it a quart and pointing to the lines. 'This is your name.'

A shudder travelled through her body when he smoothly spoke it again in that slithering language.

'This tells us the date and time, and here is my name.' When he noticed she wasn't really able to distinguish between what seemed to be continuous marks to the untrained eye, he added, 'I'll write it out for you later.'

'Thanks. I'd like that,' she responded, smiling brightly.

'Would you like to hear what it says on your collar?' he asked lightly, suppressing a chuckle when she nodded eagerly.

His fingertips caressed the collar again as he obliged her—words coiling, hissing, tempting, whirling around the air in unadulterated lust. Hermione dropped her head back and moaned. She was really disappointed when he was done, despite not having understood a single syllable of it.

His lips moved to her ear, whispering, 'Enjoyed the sound of that, my …' and then more Parseltongue connected with her eardrums.

'Yeees,' she replied almost as in a moan, feeling her muscles go weak.

'Well, I am enjoying what it says here,' he replied smoothly, his fingers curling around her throat while he lifted his head and looked right into her eyes. 'What you created,' he added heatedly. 'Would you like me to translate?'

The triumphant edge in his voice made her nervous. However, if it were something disastrous, it was better to know than to be ignorant, so she nodded quietly.

He leaned forward, enhancing the intensity of their intimate eye contact. 'It says: "Property of Lord Voldemort",' he stated, smirking.

Hermione didn't react; she waited, not breaking eye contact.

'And you picked this marriage bond,' he added, his smile widening. 'You stipulated these conditions.'

'Property of Lord Voldemort?' she questioned slowly, tilting her head. 'Four words. You took quite a bit longer when you talked in Parseltongue.'

He grinned. 'Did I?'

'Yes,' she said suspiciously.

He shrugged. 'Maybe I summarised.'

'What does it say exactly?'

'And why should I enlighten you, my sweet, little, submissive wife? You should know what it says. You picked this bond. You know what you want,  _need_ from me. Not every number seven marriage comes with a collar, let alone one with Parseltongue engravings. Seven is flexible, designs itself around the couple's needs, their desires, their power. You're a true Gryffindor, Hermione, daring to pick this one. It could've easily killed you, but you survived. Holding my magic didn't destroy you.' His eyes flickered appreciatively over her face, and he stroked an errant curl behind her ear. 'I knew you were powerful when those wards reacted so fast on your presence, but this powerful …' He shook his head and laughed. 'When I am done moulding you into the extraordinary witch I need you to be, you will be … magnificent.'

 

xxx


	9. Consequences

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my superbetas: Serpent In Red and Cosettex.

**The Prisoner**

**Chapter 9: Consequences**

Disappointed, she left the office of the Department of Magical Family Affairs and Genealogy and went back to her department with the document containing her divorce to Ron Weasley still in her pocket. There had been no possible way she could've slipped that back into the filing cabinets without being spotted. Hermione shook her head. Stupid Winmar. If only he'd left it where it was supposed to be, nobody would've noticed. Now, she was positively screwed. And she couldn't bring it within herself to ask another house-elf to do it for her. She wasn't sure whom to trust with this type of volatile information. They all had a larger obligation to the Ministry of Magic than her. Besides, this was her mess, not theirs.

Well, she supposed she could just make the entire document vanish altogether. If it got out it was missing, they were likely to blame Madame Moirae anyway. Then again, they could accuse her of bigamy if she couldn't produce proof of divorce.

Hermione grumbled.

_Scratch destroying the document._

She just had to hold on to it, just in case, and find a secure location to hide it. Some place innocuous.

Her mind briefly went to a certain cave, and she snorted. Perhaps she should find a tree in Albania then? If it worked for Helena Ravenclaw, surely it would be good enough for her. Besides, Mr Tree-Hugger was nicely tucked away in jail, making it a safe hideout for centuries to come.

Her gleeful giggle bounced off the walls, lightening her mood, while the idea cemented itself in her mind as she walked on. The more she thought about it, the better she liked it. She just needed to use another country with loads of trees. They would be easy for her to access if need be; nobody would consider looking there; and if someone did accidentally stumble upon it, the location wouldn't point directly at her. Plausible deniability, that was all she needed.

Yes, a tree would be perfect, preferably one in a national park or with some other form of protection against cutting.

Oh Merlin, trees were found in forests. Her face darkened at that consideration. Maybe she should use a tree in a city, so she wouldn't have to go through trotting across another forest. Again.

_Risk versus reward … risk versus reward …_

As she moved around the corner, she bounced into what appeared to be a bush of lemony smelling green leaves. Every single one of them had a weird triangular shape and moved in a seemingly synchronised rhythm, making an odd 'ding-ding' noise. She'd never seen anything quite like it and couldn't recall an identification from her Herbology lessons either.

'Oops, sorry,' a familiar voice called out from behind the green mass. 'I can't really see where I am going.'

'Neville?' Hermione questioned, trying to look past the many branches as she brushed some fallen leaves off her light-grey skirt suit.

Absentmindedly, her hand went to her neck, fingering the collar under the decorative scarf around her neck. She'd tried a Glamour but hadn't been satisfied with the result. It had too much of a shimmer. One of her colleagues was bound to notice and would start asking questions. The last thing she needed at the moment was to draw attention to herself, which also meant that Disillusioning the collar was too big a risk because of the many wards in the Department of Mysteries. It would trigger the alarms if she were wandering the corridors and forgot to undo the Disillusionment Charm on time or if she wouldn't be able to undo it because someone was there. It was another risk versus reward decision, not hiding the collar magically. However, she'd realised that if someone saw it, they had to be well-versed in Madame Moirae's bonds to recognise the magic and know what it meant. It would be relatively easy to just pass off the expensive, beautiful, platinum collar as something she'd bought for herself.

Her wedding ring, however, was a whole different ball game. Yet, the Glamour to make it seem like her old wedding ring was satisfactory and small enough  _not_ to set off any kind of alarms. It sure as hell was better than that poor excuse of a Transfiguration Ron had done. Hermione rolled her eyes at the memory. Really, how could he have possibly thought to get away with that?

Well, he had.

But still, that was only because she was hiding something herself, too. Otherwise, she'd have shoved that "ring" of his inside a place where the sun didn't shine. For someone who had an Exceed Expectations on his Transfiguration O.W.L., he'd surely done a lousy job. He'd been lucky Kingsley had offered those who'd fought Lord Voldemort a spot at the Auror Academy without demanding that the normal requirements be met. If Ron would have had to graduate from Hogwarts like she'd done, she doubted he'd have passed his Transfiguration N.E.W.T. and he'd never been allowed to become an Auror without it.

'Hermione?' Neville asked, his voice laced with excitement as the green mass bounced up and down. 'Is that you?'

Suddenly, the entire bush was toppled to the side, the top striking the wall, while Neville still had the huge pot in his arms. His round face peeked over the remaining leaves between them, immediately brightening at the sight of her.

'Oh Godric, it is. I've been looking all over for you, but I just kept missing you every single time,' he rattled, changing the weight of the plant to his other arm and swiping it through the air up against the other wall. Its only reaction was a low-pitched hum. 'You're a hard woman to get a hold of. You're never at your office or at home when I get there. Hmm … I can't talk like this. I can't see you properly,' he said, glaring at the plant. 'This isn't working. Lemme put this plant down.'

The leaves made a tingling noise as he lowered the pot to the ground cautiously at Hermione's feet.

'Interesting,' Neville muttered, 'now the tone is higher, I believe.'

'What is higher?'

'The noise they make,' Neville explained, caressing one of the leaves before straightening out and facing her, smiling brightly. 'You have no idea how good it is to finally see you again.'

'You too,' Hermione replied, smiling back.

He stepped forward and hugged her tightly. 'Thank you so very much.' As he swayed them to and fro, he kept on showering her with more thanks.

Confused, Hermione leaned back, looking into his happy face. 'For what?'

Neville smiled knowingly. 'I think you know what for, don't you?'

'Nooo,' Hermione said slowly, frowning in doubt, 'I don't think I do.'

'My parents, of course. If it weren't for you, they'd still be at St. Mungo's.'

'Wherever did you get that ridiculous idea from?' she asked, flabbergasted.

'McGregor,' Neville replied smugly.

Hermione's jaw dropped. Katie McGregor had told an outsider classified information? That was so unlike her.

'She told us you were the reason the cure became available. Yeah, yeah,' he said, waving away the objections Hermione was about to make, 'I know you have to deny it, being a secrety-secretive Unspeakable and all, but I could just kiss you,' Neville said brightly. 'You know what? Screw Ron, I will.'

He grabbed a hold of her again and gave her a big smack on the lips. A spark flashed between them, and Neville yelped in pain as he jumped away, his hand covering his mouth.

'Neville!' she shouted. Her eyes were wide with worry as she tentatively grabbed his wrist and pulled his hand away. There seemed to be no visible damage. 'Are you okay?'

'Wonderful experience, eh? The good ol' Longbottom kissing expertise,' he joked, chuckling.

'Neville,' Hermione chided, slapping him against his shoulder playfully.

Since he was making fun of what happened, he had to be fine, something she was incredibly relieved about because she was pretty sure that hadn't been static electricity. She could've sworn that spark had originated somewhere deep within her. She'd felt it. If this happened because of her bond with Riddle, she was in deep, deep trouble.

'Wanna try again?'

Hermione sighed, making a face that tiresomely expressed 'men'.

He shrugged unapologetically, causing her to shake her head and smile.

'How are your parents doing?' she asked to change the subject.

'Meh …' Neville said, wiggling his hands doubtfully. 'They're a bit overwhelmed.'

'That's to be expected. It's been many years after all,' she said reassuringly.

'Yeah, I know. I don't think Grams is helping either. She's still treating them like they're—like they're—'

'—crazy?'

Neville nodded. 'And like they're little children, overly fragile,' he added, screwing up his face. 'I think that's annoying Mum the most. Dad doesn't seem to mind as much if at all. I think he feels safer in the Longbottom Mansion. He even moved back into his old bedroom again. Mum's sleeping in the main guest room. I don't think they're ready …' he trailed off, his face twisting in pain. 'Well, their own house was burned to the ground, so I suppose they're safest with Grams for now. They do trust her.'

'Can't they get a place for themselves so they can start over?'

'No, not yet. Their brain function is fully back according to the Healers, but their mind hasn't yet adapted to everything that happened to them. Grams says they're having serious nightmares when they sleep. And, at times, she finds them wandering around aimlessly, almost unresponsive. I think that freaks her out because it reminds her how they were. But they do talk again, and every day, it gets a bit better.'

'That's at least something,' Hermione replied, watching Neville concerned. 'And how is this affecting you?'

He hoisted his shoulders up. 'They know who I am now. My name was the first thing Mum said,' he said, staring into thin air. 'I try to be there as often as I can. It helps, Grams says.'

'I am sure it does. You're their son. They love you,' she said, taking his hand and giving it a short, supportive squeeze.

'Yeah,' Neville said, smiling. 'They want to know everything, keep asking me what I did when I was five and so on, going into the tiniest details. I have to be careful though, can't talk about the war much or all the other bad shit that happened. They shut down when it comes up. But if I keep it to joyous anecdotes like the time when those pixies had me dangling on the chandelier, we're good.'

'Neville, you shouldn't sell yourself short,' she reprimanded, shaking her head. 'You're a great wizard and you need to let them know that. They have a right to be proud of you.'

Neville blushed. 'Thank you.'

'I mean it,' Hermione said seriously. 'You shouldn't focus on your clumsiness. You've outgrown it ages ago.'

'I know,' he said apologetically, 'but it makes for some fun storytelling.'

Hermione snorted. 'I suppose you're right about that.'

'And I know they're proud. I can see it in their eyes. There is no need for me to boost about my grand, heroic acts,' Neville exaggerated humorously. 'Grams does that enough for me. Besides, sometimes, I think they know more than we give them credit for. Mum spoke of Trevor the other night, and I never told her about my old toad.'

'Well, you did visit them at St. Mungo's and talked to them then, right?'

'Yes.'

'So, according to the theory, those memories should be present in their minds, too.'

'Hah! Busted,' Neville said triumphantly. 'You couldn't possibly know that unless you had something to do with it.'

'You already knew that.'

'True, but now I have proof from your lips.'

'How did you get McGregor to tell you anyway?' Hermione asked curiously.

Neville looked up and down the corridor and then leaned towards Hermione in a conspiratory manner. 'Grams blackmailed her.'

Hermione's eyes widened. 'What?' she blurted out, astonished that someone could be aware of McGregor's skeletons and still be alive to tell the tale. 'How? With what?'

'Eh, if we told you, we wouldn't be able to use it again, now would we?'

'Oh come on, my lips are sealed. Spill.'

'Nah, I can't. I don't really know the details. Grams was whispering at the time; I only caught fragments of it, and no,' Neville said, holding up his hand when Hermione was about to open her mouth and interrupt him, 'my lips are sealed, too. I owe McGregor for telling us it was you.'

'Well, you can't blame a girl for trying.'

'I'm not. And if you ever need anything, anything at all, Hermione, I am serious, just holler and I'll make sure it happens. You have no idea how much it means to me to have my parents back. It's … I just never thought …' he trailed off, swallowing visibly.

'I know,' Hermione said softly. 'You told me, remember? That evening in the library when we were studying Tickling Charms.'

'Oh yeah, the lesson you missed.' He grinned. 'Oh the horror! Neville, Neville!' he squeaked hysterically. 'I missed the lesson and the professor said it is going to be in the test and now I will fai— Oww!' He rubbed his arm where Hermione had slapped him.

'That's for imitating me,' she said, laughing. 'Quite adequately so, too.'

'You're welcome.' He sighed. 'I have to get going,' he said, disappointed. 'We really need to get together someday. All of us should.'

'I'll owl you. We could do dinner or whatever?' Hermione suggested.

'Sounds wonderful. It'll be nice to see everyone again.' He bent over to pick up his plant. 'Oh, and Hermione …'

'Yes?'

'Your job … what you have to do … just be careful, okay?'

Hermione frowned.

'I'm serious, Hermione. I know there is only one person you could've got the information from to help my parents. Just – just … watch your back.'

She nodded, sending him a weak smile.

'No, I mean right now, watch your back!' Neville yelled, alarmed, putting his plant down rapidly and moving to her concerned when a twig suddenly ran over Hermione's shoulder.

They struggled with the plant that had crawled sneakily into Hermione's clothes while they'd been talking. She wanted to flash her wand at it, but Neville stopped her, saying they had no idea what effect it would have. Since he made sense, she decided trying to kill it could wait. For now.

'Family of Devil's Snare?' Hermione asked breathlessly, unwrapping a twig that curled around her wrist while Neville pulled another strand off her leg. The plant seemed to be one step ahead of them every time.

'No idea,' he replied. 'It doesn't try to kill. Otherwise, I wouldn't have carried it around so unprotected. But to some people, it responds quite affectionately for some reason,' he said as he seemed to be in a tug of rope with the plant that wanted to remain around Hermione's waist quite adamantly.

'Affectionately, that's one way of putting it,' Hermione muttered, darting out of range when she was finally free of the twigs.

A high-pitched howl was emitted from the plant, and the twigs waved in her direction as if wanting to regain contact.

'Oh, this is new,' Neville said, flicking his wand around in the patterns of the Recording Charm. 'I've not heard this noise before. It must really like you to be this upset.'

'What kind of plant is this anyway?' she asked, ignoring the statements about being liked by a plant.

'We have absolutely no idea,' Neville said, sounding incredibly happy about that. 'It appears to be some crossbreed, but the Unspeakables couldn't determine the origins.'

'Hence you're here,' Hermione said.

Neville nodded. 'McGregor contacted the Arboretum and asked for my assistance. I'm happy to give it. I haven't seen such an interesting plant since I got my first Mimbulus Mimbletonia.' He stroked the leaves gently, and the plant made a purring noise in reaction. 'It likes to be touched.'

'Hagrid,' Hermione said in a cough.

Neville grinned. 'I'm not the one who created this crossbreed.'

'Not yet,' she teased. 'Give it time.'

He snorted. 'Just whack me over the head when I start creating Killer Plants and call them Snuggie, okay?'

'Promise.'

'Okay, we'll owl then?'

'Yes,' she replied, wanting to give Neville one final hug but needing to sidestep the 'loveable' plant again. 'Er … is it growing faster all of a sudden?' she asked, watching the plant concerned.

'It seems so. I'll get out of your way quickly.' Neville picked up the pot and started walking. 'See you soon!'

'See you,' Hermione called back.

As he moved farther away from her, the plant let out a high, mourning whine. 'Fascinating,' she heard him mutter as he disappeared around the corner.

'Hermione!' Katie McGregor called out, coming out of Hermione's office. 'A word.'

Hermione swirled around and quickly walked towards her office where she found her boss, leaning against her desk with a thick roll of parchment in her hands.

'Is something wrong?' she asked, looking at the scroll curiously.

'Not anymore. You were right about the ward on Riddle's door. The Aurors arrested Hogan Rumsfield a moment ago. It seems the bastard couldn't be bothered to do his job and maintain the ward on the locks as he was paid to do. The only time that door's been properly secured was when the wards were put into place. Can you believe it?' she growled. 'Voldemort's been able to open that door since Merlin knows how long.'

Katie's face darkened, and her fingers tightened around the roll in her hand. Hermione was about to warn her that she was close to crumbling the parchment when Katie exhaled and relaxed.

'Well, I suppose it's a good thing we spread the risks from the start and had different people in charge of all the aspects of Voldemort's cell. And Rumsfield still insists he did nothing wrong, that the security was too exaggerated anyway. A waste of money. Yes, his salary has been a waste of good money. Can you imagine what would've happened if the wards on the corridor had failed even once?' She shuddered. 'I'm going to see to it that idiot is never going to see the light of day again once the Wizengamot convicts him.'

'But it's okay now, right?' Hermione inquired. 'You had someone set the wards back on the door, I take it?'

'Oh yes, absolutely. I took over full responsibility. Can't leave things this important to a mere warden, it seems. All those years and no one noticed,' she grumbled. 'Idiots. Such unbelievable, imbecilic—'

Hermione scratched her neck, wondering when Katie would be done ranting as she tuned out. She had things to do, spells to cast to alert her to the arrival of a certain document at the Ministry of Magic. If she couldn't snatch away Madame Moirae's parchment regarding her marriage to Riddle before someone saw it, her life as she knew it was over. There was only a small window of opportunity in which she had to cast the spells from her office to activate the runes she'd just applied invisibly to the inbox of the Department of Magical Family Affairs and Genealogy, and Katie just had to be here now.

'Anyway, fortunately, I sent you there,' Katie added, beaming at her. 'Excellent job, Hermione. And speaking of doing an excellent job, I've put in a request to the Minister to have you promoted to a Class A Unspeakable, which of course, as you know, comes with a significant pay rise.'

'Isn't it a bit early for me to get that promotion? I'm only twenty-two. Surely others—' Hermione spluttered, feeling incredibly uncomfortable now.

'Nonsense,' McGregor interrupted. 'Hell, Potter is head of his department already. Not that I am giving up my job,' she said, leaning forward to Hermione with a smirk, 'but you would've had equal or more standing than him if it had been up to me.' She pushed away from Hermione's desk and handed her the scroll. 'My request to the Egyptian Magical Historical Society finally came through. This is a copy of the original scroll of Isis's Potions.'

Hermione's eyes widened in excitement and unrolled it reverently. 'As in a full copy and not an abbreviation?'

'Yes, and we need it translated.'

'But wasn't that done already?'

'Yes, however, as you probably know, Parseltongue is a complicated language to speak and even more so to read or write. Apparently, there are multiple translations possible for even the simplest of lines. You know they've never let anyone near the entire document before, but it seems like they're getting desperate. Many scholars have translated parts of the document, and even a couple of Parselmouths have attempted to settle the dispute on the ingredients mentioned by Isis. Still, none of the potions that were recreated have worked in the exact same way as history said Isis used them.'

Hermione frowned. 'I'm not sure it's a good idea to put this type of information into his hands, Katie. I can't check what he tells me, and he could easily be holding back vital information. Why not have another Parselmouth look at the entire document? Why him?'

'Because the only other Parselmouth who was also able to read the language died two months ago. Riddle's the last native speaker of the language who can also read and write it.'

'Great,' Hermione muttered sarcastically. 'Lord Voldemort, the last hope of humanity.'

Katie snorted. 'Well, we are aware it's likely he'll hold things back, but whatever we can get now is a plus. So just see what you can do. So far I'd say you've been amazing. I'd never thought we'd get this much out of him as you have.' She slapped Hermione on the back. 'Keep it up, Weasley.'

And, on that note, her boss was out of her office.

Hermione immediately rushed to her desk, placed the scroll on the side, opened her secret drawer, grabbed out the flat stone and started carving with her wand. As she swirled her wand above her head, the rune lit up and her inbox fluttered briefly. There, the deed was done. If something with her name on it arrived in the other department's inbox, it would automatically be redirected to hers. Tossing her head back, she let out a relieved breath. She'd have time now to divorce Ron in a somewhat considerate manner. She didn't want to hurt him any more than was absolutely necessary.

Pointing her wand at the stone, she prepared to erase the rune with a flick of her wrist.

**Crack!**

The stone burst into pieces. Annoyed, Hermione tried to mend it but couldn't get it to work. Eventually, she vanished the stone in its entirety and leaned back in her chair, wondering what went wrong just now and shrugging it off when she had no direct answer. She grabbed the scroll and unrolled it again. The whole of Isis's knowledge in Riddle's hands …

She shook her head. No way. She wasn't going to show him a thing before she had some indication of what was what on this scroll, and she knew precisely where to go.

xxx

'Magnificent, isn't it, Miss Underwood? I was thrilled to hear that the Egyptian Ministry finally decided to grant access to the entire scroll to an outside expert,' the slightly balding professor said as he handed her the many documents he'd pulled out from a cabinet. 'My department has been asking for this for ages. You've got no idea how stuck we are in our translation. Sure, we were allowed to show bits and pieces to known Parselmouths, but this is something else entirely. This may mean that we'll finally get the answers to long held questions. I was disappointed to hear they wouldn't allow me to go and meet him though.'

'Well, you understand … security reasons,' Hermione replied, making a face while shrugging apologetically. 'But I'll will put in a good word for you. You've been most helpful, Professor Eleftheriou.'

'Oooh,' the professor said, bouncing on his feet in excitement. 'I'd love to get a chance. It's not often one meets a Parselmouth expert, versed in the written language, too. It would be so exciting.'

 _Exciting is one word for it,_  Hermione thought, taking in the tiny man,  _dead another._

'Yes, incredibly exciting,' she agreed, nodding eagerly. She'd a cover to maintain after all. 'We're very pleased with all the assistance you can provide.'

'Well, this,' he patted the stack, 'is every translation concerning the Isis scrolls that we have on record. Most of them are in Arabic though. I hope that's not a problem, Miss Underwood?'

'No problem at all, I'll use a Translator Charm.'

'Those are very inaccurate.'

'I know, but it's good enough to get a general idea,' Hermione said, putting it all in her beaded bag. 'It will definitely give us an indication to his truthfulness.'  _And tell me which parts of the scroll I'm so not going to show him._ 'And, of course, once he's done, we trust you to go over everything with a fine-tooth comb.'

The professor stroked his pointy, black goatee and nodded his head in pleased agreement. She wondered why he felt the need to caress that ugly thing on his face every other second. It made it stick out even more and it was obvious he'd dyed it in order to look younger. In her honest opinion, the black goatee made him seem like one of those master villains out of a cheap, seventies, science fiction TV series. If only she had brought some scissors …

Then again, he seemed proud of 'The Thing', and she was here for more interesting purposes than to be his barber. Focusing back on the other part of her mission here, she started speaking hesitantly deliberately.

'Er … I was wondering.' She paused. 'We have this other matter. I'm not supposed to tell. Classified material and all, top secret.' She looked over her shoulder to the closed door, shuffling on her feet as if in severe doubt. 'But you look trustworthy enough, and—and … you've been so helpful today.'

Curious now, Professor Eleftheriou leaned towards her. 'My offices are warded in every possible manner, Miss Underwood. No one can hear what you're saying.'

Hermione bit her lip. 'Well, as one scholar to the other, you know how hyper governments get when knowledge is shared.'

'Yes, yes, don't get me started,' the professor grumbled, waving in annoyance as if he were casting all governments away. 'Phooh! They don't understand that the foundation of science is openness. In order to deduce, we need to share information. The more, the better.'

'Exactly,' Hermione said, laying it on thick as she touched his upper arm. 'They make our jobs impossible and then complain when we can't give them the answers they want.'

'Oh, that's so true, so true, Miss Underwood. The stories  **I** could tell you.' He slapped on his chest meaningfully. 'Now, what can I do for you, sweet girl? You have my word as a scientist that my lips are sealed. Governments don't need to know how we achieved our results, wouldn't you agree?'

'I suppose … and since you gave me your word … as a scientist …' She leaned towards him and whispered, 'We found this object after  _he_ , You-Know-Who, was incarcerated.'

'What object?'

'It has Parseltongue engravings on it, but he won't divulge what they mean. I was wondering, since you're an expert at this, despite not being a Parselmouth. So extraordinary, many can't achieve what you have taught yourself.'

'Miss Underwood, you're too kind,' Professor Eleftheriou replied, flattered. 'I just studied the language.'

'Just studied the language,' she repeated, making sure to show how much she felt he was understating his achievements, and shook her head in disagreement for good measure. 'I heard you received better results than most native Parselmouths at the prestigious University of Cairo, which is the institute known for their excellence in Parseltongue, Hieroglyphs and Runes,' Hermione complimented, pulling a piece of paper from her pocket. She noticed how his eyes flickered eagerly to the document. He was definitely interested; he had a hard time keeping eye contact with her. 'And now you're one of the few still capable of reading the language.'

'Well, to some extent,' he replied with some reserve as his eyes flickered to the paper in her hand, 'Parseltongue is a hard language. The same lines can mean several different things depending on the context.'

'Exactly. Would you mind …?' she trailed off, holding out the piece of paper.

She wasn't surprised when it was almost snatched from her hand immediately. She'd seen how much he'd been on edge to study it already. He folded it out and placed it on the desk behind him, putting on his tiny, square reading glasses.

'Hmm… interesting,' he muttered, plucking his goatee. 'What did you say this was written upon?'

'I didn't say,' she replied, reluctant to share that information.

'Well, it's hard to say without an indication. Parseltongue is primarily an auditory language. A vowel can be spoken or hissed in at least twelve different tones and possibly more, depending on the context. For instance,' he grabbed a quill and scratch a line on an empty parchment of his own, 'this line here could mean water, monocle, earth, glass, shield, formation, et cetera depending on the four lines that surround it and the surface it's written upon.' He drew a few more lines. 'If it's followed with this curl and preceded with this swirl, it could mean formation. Yet, if you have the same symbols accompanied by a straight line with a one percent decline to the right, it would more likely be water or earth. Water if it were written on a shiny surface, earth when dull. Parseltongue is fluent and always variable, much like the animal it came from,' he added, looking up at her. 'It's what makes it so difficult.'

'Oh, you're even more brilliant than I thought you'd be,' Hermione squeaked, watching the man turn red in delight. 'I was positive you could translate it, but my colleagues … well, they were …' she smiled apologetically, not finishing the sentence as if she felt it was too rude to do so.

'I'd be happy to help, but I need more information, Miss Underwood. There are too many options possible without knowing what this was written on.'

Damn. She'd hoped stroking and insulting his ego at the same time would do the trick. However, he clearly needed to know. She could tell from his reactions that he desperately wanted to translate it for her now, so he would've done it already had he been able to. Oh well, he wasn't going to recall this conversation anyway.

'It was on a collar we took off a corpse in one of the Dark Lord's strongholds,' she lied.

'Ah,' he replied, turning back to the paper enlightened. 'Now that might make sense. There was a line. Where is it? Oh, here. Yes.' He made a note on the side. 'Male or female? The corpse.'

'Female.'

'What was the collar made of?' he asked, as he began making little vertical stripes underneath the Parseltongue text.

'Platinum; about an inch wide.'

'Shiny, I presume,' he checked.

'Yes.'

'And this is exactly how it was written on the collar, same height and distance?'

'It's a carbon copy,' Hermione replied, recalling the huge effort it had taken her to get that done. She'd had to resort to Muggle methods in the end because anything magical just wouldn't take on the collar.

'Okay then. Well, I suppose … hmmm … with this background I'd say this line definitely indicates ownership. Property of … ermm… some title, probably Lord given the circumstances … Will leave that open—mustn't be a bad academic after all.' He wrote it down with a question mark at the end. 'And then something death, escape? No, that curl is too round; search death, want death … oh, oh, flight of death; it's inverted. So, I've got: Property of title (maybe lord?) flight of death? No, that doesn't make sense. Are you sure the surface was shiny? If it were dim, I would have a—uh … a—a riddle after the title. Ugh, that's not much better either.'

Hermione smiled. 'Actually, both make sense. But the surface is shiny, so it's flight of death, which is the French meaning of his name.'

'Oooh. Oh yes, of course, didn't think of that. Well, then it works. Parseltongue and names, places and times is just one horrible nightmare to begin with. So, we got: Property of Lord … Voldemort.' The man shivered briefly after stating the name out loud but then continued to read. 'Hmmm… weird,' he mumbled as he made notes on the side. 'No, this has to be a state of being: good, perfect. I can't make heads or tails from this. What on earth is that curl doing there? Does it mean I need to go to the line above it by any chance? Nah, there is no shift here. Points to exceptions … conditions. Nah, can't be. Green what? The grass is green. OK, that's not right. Well, of course, it's right, but why bother stating that?' He scratched through his notes. 'Perfect companion, woman, spouse … SPOUSE?' He looked over his shoulder to Hermione. 'I never heard he was married, did you?'

She shrugged. 'Could be,' she said nonconsequentially. 'I'm not an expert on his private life.'

However, she recalled the number seven bond had the effect of becoming a perfect spouse to the other person so she figured Professor Eleftheriou was on track.

The professor smiled. 'Yeah, of course not. Ermm… well,' he held up his hands in uncertainty, 'this,' he pointed to the section, 'could have something to do with being a perfect spouse to someone. I guess it makes somewhat sense given it was on an expensive collar and it's about forcing another to be something they're not. However, I'm not sure on the spouse. Would be quite a scoop,' he nudged Hermione playfully, 'if we could inform the world he had a wife.'

'Yes,' she replied with a forced smile on her face. 'Some scoop.'  _So going to Obliviate him._

'However, I have no idea what this is and since it's connected to the line that could indicate spouse, I can't be positive on this translation at all. Let's look at this again.' He went to the beginning of the third line and shook his head after a while. 'This is one of the few words you can't get wrong but it makes no sense.' After a frustrated sigh, he wrote down 'exceptions'.

Hermione blinked, furrowing her brow.  _Exceptions?_

'And this has to be condition, no, conditions; it's the plural with the swirl more to the left.' He shook his head, writing it down. 'Hmmm… pain, terrified, ache, hurt, it's hurt or not hurt. Is that a negative proposition dot in front of it? Can't be sure. So hurt or not hurt. Why is it that there?' he asked rhetorically as he wrote the words down. 'Oh great, the house is dancing in the field. Well, I am sure that's right,' he sneered at himself. 'Makes perfect sense.' He stared at the lines, willing them to divulge their secrets. 'House, house … assets? Yes, assets could be it; there is a slide to the right.' He quickly wrote it down. 'Assets, what? Oh, this is maddening. I can't be sure. It could mean share or forfeit. Not exactly the same thing. Hmmm … assets share slash forfeit then. If it's assets at all.' Hermione saw him put in a question mark again. 'Not getting that. No idea what that curl means. Is that an eight-shaped flattened curl or an eight-shaped slightly flattened curl? This has to mean magic here. Magic … again with that same extension; share, forfeit: take your pick. Oppressing power? Capturing, no preventing capturing. There is a negative dot again. Hmm … can't be sure. These circles indicates eternity. Oh, protection. Yep, definitely the sign of protection there. Oh, that could explain why she was dead.'

'Ermm, what?' Hermione interrupted, alarmed.

'These lines indicate a warning. It seems that the collar is some form of barrier, like an old-fashioned chastity belt.' The professor sniggered. 'I wouldn't recommend any man to intentionally touch the wearer inappropriately. I'm betting my professorship on that collar being magically infused to do serious damage to those who try.'

'You said it could explain why she was dead, not what it would do to those touching her,' she said, recalling the incident with Neville and how it had hurt him but not her.

'Well, if she were willing …' Professor Eleftheriou said, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively at Hermione. 'If you look at the ownership bit here and then the protection part here, I'd say whoever wore that collar would better not be so foolish as to cheat on her master.'

Ignoring his comments and demeanour, Hermione stared at what he'd written down:  _Property of Lord Voldemort, exceptions, conditions, assets, magic, power, protection._ She narrowed her eyes. Not knowing precisely what verb went with those nouns meant— Her heart skipped a beat. She knew. Hermione tossed her head back and laughed. Oh Merlin, she did know what the factors were concerning those words. She'd picked that number seven marriage after all. It was just a matter of deduction with the general bond's description in mind.

Now, she couldn't stop laughing. No wonder Voldemort hadn't translated the rest of it. He hadn't wanted to acknowledge those things out loud to her. Well, at least not in a language she could understand. The bastard was probably hoping she'd stay ignorant to the details and just keep a general grasp of their marriage in order to take advantage of her. Too bad. She'd not spend all that money to have him end up on top.

Well, except for one area, she thought, smirking.

'Miss Underwood?' Professor Eleftheriou inquired, confused. 'What's so funny? Did you deduce something? I thought you said you couldn't read the language?'

'My apologies, Professor, I didn't mean to be rude. It's just the combination of those words made me recall a crazy situation one of my friends has been in and … I couldn't stop laughing at the mental visual. I'm terribly sorry. I appreciate what you did here. I really do. I wasn't making fun of you.'

'I didn't think you were, Miss Underwood. I was just under the impression that you found something out,' he replied, watching her with suddenly shrewd eyes.

Damn, the stupid goatee man was more perceptive than she'd originally given him credit for. She had to end this quickly.

'No, I am afraid not. My knowledge of Parseltongue is absolutely naught.' She gestured at the parchment. 'Is this everything you can make out of the text?'

He nodded. 'Parseltongue lines are not straightforward sentences as they are in our languages. So, what starts on the first line could very well be the last thing to be read and words slither from one line to the next, so you might think you go from this symbol to that when it's in fact the line above it you should go to. For as I can tell, this collar is supposed to be read from hereon. It seems to start warning people off, then the indication of who owns the person is given and then the conditions and exceptions seem stipulated. Although for the life of me, I can't imagine why he would lay restrictions on himself, so you should take everything I translated with a huge grain of salt. I'm sorry I couldn't help you out more here.'

'Oh, this was very helpful, Professor Eleftheriou, very helpful indeed, and I am terribly sorry.'

The man seemed confused. 'About what?'

'This,' Hermione replied, slashing her wand. 'Somnus!'

With a thud, his body struck the floor. She swiftly levitated him into his chair before flashing her wand again.  _Obliviate! s_ he cast nonverbally.

Nothing happened on her second spell. Hermione frowned and wiggled her wand in irritation.

'Obliviate!' she said out loud.

Now completely irritated at the lacking result, she focused on her surroundings. Why wasn't it working? Did he have some kind of protection in place against this charm? Waving her wand around in several intricate patterns, she quickly deduced his wards didn't protect him against any memory spells.

Then, what went wrong?

She narrowed her eyes at the tiny man. Was he even breathing? A diagnostic spell flew from her wand. Two bright circles enveloped the man, oscillating around him in different colours before turning purple. PURPLE! He was stone dead. Shocked, she staggered back on her feet. How was this possible? She'd only cast a bleeding, simple Sleeping Charm. Nothing that should, would, could kill.

Theoretically.

Quickly, her mind went to the two people who'd seen her enter the building. Muggles, she reckoned, recalling their headphones and modern outfits. They wouldn't be a problem since she wore a Glamour. Quickly, she whipped her wand around, destroying all evidence of her presence. For a second, her eyes landed back on the body, guilt stirring in her stomach. She'd not meant to kill that man. He wasn't her first kill and probably wouldn't be her last, but it was annoying that she couldn't explain why he had died. It grated at her.

_I don't have time for this. Whine later, Hermione. You can't be found here._

Realising she couldn't risk walking out and being seen by any Wizarding folks, she focused her magic on the wards next, searching for any weaknesses that would allow her to Disapparate through them. Closing her eyes, she felt the wards thrumming around the windows and door the strongest. Picking the point farthest away from those places, she stared at it and concentrated hard for the spell she was about to cast. The ward only needed to be down for a second. It had to come up again after she'd gone through; otherwise, it would look suspicious and his death would be investigated.

Hermione took a deep breath and then slashed her wand at the weakest spot. With a loud crackling noise, a lightning bolt smashed into the ward. It billowed and bulged; waves formed; the ward began streaming, rotating like a whirlwind. Then, she sensed it: a tiny opening not more than an inch. It was all she needed.

After her Disapparition, the wards' movements slowly came to a halt as if nothing had ever happened to them. The dead body in the chair was the only witness to what had occurred, and it would never speak again.

xxx


	10. No Touching

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My thanks go to my lovely betas: Serpent In Red and Cosettex.

**The Prisoner**

**Chapter 10: No Touching**

'You're remarkably late,' Tom said coolly as she entered the cell right after lunch.

'I don't recall us agreeing on a specific time that I should be here,' she snapped, tossing some loose pieces of paper and her notebook on the table. 'Just because I've been here every morning at nine, doesn't mean I always  _can_ be here at nine.'

'Cranky,' he muttered, watching her stomp away to hang up her coat. 'That time of the month?'

Taking a deep breath, she decided she wasn't going there. A deadly glare became her only response.

'I guess the honeymoon is over,' he joked, glancing over the papers before looking up again as she plunked down next to him on the bed.

'Funny, really funny. I take it you're aspiring to become a stand-up comedian next,' she snarled.

'What's got your knickers all in a twist?' he asked, placing the papers on the table and turning towards her.

'Aren't you going to read that?' Hermione asked, flabbergasted.

After using the Translator Charm, she'd copied a few of the seemingly harmless Isis Potions and had brought those with her for him to translate. She'd thought he'd be all over it, considering Isis was famous and the quality of the Potions she created was the stuff of legends.

'Aren't you going to answer me?' Tom rebutted.

'Nothing, it's one of those days,' she replied, moving as if to shake off her ruffled feathers before staring at the wall. She couldn't believe what had just happened. Why had Professor Eleftheriou died? It made no sense.

'One of those days?'

'Sorry.'

Tom raised his eyebrows at the clipped tone of voice being used with that clearly insincere apology. He stared at her intensely before he turned away and took the documents that she'd brought him back in hand.

'What am I supposed to do with this  _if I may ask?_ ' he asked, voicing the latter in a snarl.

'Well, I don't know. The Isis Potions in Parseltongue,' she mocked, 'thought it would be a no-brainer.'

Silence fell. Warning signs were flashing all around her. From the cool, collected way he was now observing her to the rigidness of his posture. A dark, malicious glint flickered through his eyes, and there was a slight curve of his mouth that would've made Godric Gryffindor himself run for the hills; however, Hermione was too upset to notice any of it.

'This seems to be a copy—'

'Gee, and I thought the Egyptian Historical Society had given me the original,' Hermione interrupted, rolling her eyes.

'—a copy of three, nonconsecutive parts of the scroll,' he finished quietly, his tone of voice expressionless.

'Really?' she snarled, moving her head over to pretend-investigate the document in his hand. 'They didn't tear it out of the priceless, ancient, original parchment? How—'

'Of course they haven't,' Riddle interrupted coldly. 'How could they when they lost the original oh give or take forty-five years ago?'

She couldn't believe her ears. Somehow, she knew she should've known. It fitted his profile after all. Still, this was just too much. He already had seen the entire document, and she'd gone to Professor Eleftheriou to prevent Riddle from reading information he shouldn't have when he already had it. That man was dead because of it. She swirled around, angry as hell.

'Is there nothing you wouldn't stoop to?'

Riddle regarded her for what seemed to be forever, until he leaned forwards past her face, his breath brushing her earlobe as he spoke.

'Tread carefully, my wife,' he hissed warningly, freezing her in place. 'My patience isn't endless. Continue to disrespect me like this and you will feel the consequences regardless of our previous agreement.'

Hermione closed her eyes, feeling them water. She deserved to be punished. The professor had been an okay enough fellow, hadn't deserved to die just because he had an ugly, dyed goatee and she happened to drop by. She bit her lip; her chin trembled. She wasn't going to cry. She wasn't. Not over someone she'd hardly known. Not over someone who was incredibly old and standing with one foot in the grave already anyway. She'd buried enough people, younger people. This was … No, she couldn't care anymore. No more. She was done crying over the dead. It had been an accident. She'd not planned to kill him. It wasn't her fault. Flashes of those she'd killed in battle moved in front of her mind's eye. They all fell like the professor had. Lifeless bodies struck the ground over and over again. His body struck the ground over and over again. Why had her spell gone so wrong? It was harmless.

She moved away from Riddle, clutching her hands around the edge of the bed and rocking back and forth as she tried to control her emotions. She didn't look at him, had her face deliberately turned away, afraid that upon getting contact with another human being, or _an alleged_   _human being_ , the dam would break and she wouldn't be able to hold it in anymore. She had to hold it in. She sniffed a couple of times, breathed in deeply: in – out, in – out, in – out, in – out.

The noise of a pen scratching on paper reached her ears. Such an ordinary sound. It was soothing in its normalcy. The world hadn't turned completely upside down on her. Not all of it. Some things remained the same, like breathing: in – out, in – out, in – out.

In due time, she stopped rocking and tilted her head all the way back, inhaling extra deep before letting it all go with an exaggerated exhale. Her hands wiped over her face, removing the evidence of some silently fallen tears, and she sighed, not daring to look sideways. Merlin, she'd made an absolute fool of herself. Why did that always have to happen in front of him though?

'These are three of Isis's most basic potions,' Tom said evenly. 'I have no problem supplying them with the translation to these. From what I recall, they almost had everything correct already. They just misjudged a couple of measurements and the timescale on which these had to boil.'

Inside, she felt incredibly thankful he was ignoring the entire outburst she'd just had. Hermione was sure if he addressed it now, she would not be able to keep her newly found composure.

'There are, however—'

**Click!**

The entire cell had gone pitch-black. She couldn't see a thing in that darkness.

'Great, Russell's on duty,' Tom muttered beside her in annoyance.

'What just happened?' Hermione asked, looking in the direction of his voice but unable to see even a shade of him.

'Russell finds it entertaining to turn the overhead lights off during the day. He thinks this is torture.' Riddle snorted. 'Well, the only torture he dares to administer,' he mocked, 'nice and safe, from afar.'

Hermione thought she heard him add, 'safe for now at least', but she pretended not to hear that.

'What do we do now? I don't have a flashlight on me, and we can't do anything in this darkness.'

'Oh, I can think of a thing or two,' Tom said lightly.

She scowled at him, forgetting there was no use to that since he wouldn't see it anyway. 'I'm scowling right now,' she added in good measure.

'I figured as much,' he replied humorously. 'Well, aren't you going to fix this problem, Saviour of the Light?'

'More scowling,' Hermione retorted immediately, hearing him snigger in reaction. 'So, how am I supposed to fix it, Lord of Darkness? Snap my fingers or something?'

'If you open the door and turn on the switch in the corridor, we could use the light coming through the window.'

'Oh, good idea.'

She got up carefully and turned left. The door was right in front of the table she recalled. She took four steps to be sure she'd cleared the table and then started to walk blindly, keeping her arms stretched out in front of her.

'This is hard,' she mumbled to herself.

'Well, if you hadn't felt the need to rat on me being able to open the door, I could've done this.'

'Yet, it's not a problem,' she added cheerfully, very pleased he wasn't capable to do that anymore.

She heard him snort. It caused her to frown. She'd expected him to have a bigger reaction to her betrayal as he would undoubtedly see it. But he was obviously undeterred. Not that she wanted him to get angry with her since, well, that could turn potentially lethal. Yet, this uncaring attitude was rather disconcerting to her.

'You would've got sick though, if you stuck your hand around the corner,' she added seriously, trying to minimise the extent of her treachery.

'Three days of vomiting and headaches,' he replied dismissively. 'Not a big deal.'

'Oowee, tough guy.'

'Granger,' he said warningly, causing her to smirk, 'watch out for the—'

**Boink!**

'Oww!' Several coarse words left her lips as she rubbed her painful shin with both hands.

'—toilet,' Riddle added.

'Gee, thanks for the timely warning,' she sneered, following the wall with her hands as she moved sideways.

'You're welcome.'

She ignored him and opened the door upon finding it. Light from the corridor blinded her eyesight. After a couple of blinks, she flipped the switch causing the light to also pour into the cell through the huge window. She closed the door and turned around, blinking to adjust her eyes once again to the different lighting. It wasn't as bright as normally, more like some kind of romantic mood light. It would definitely not be enough to sit on the bed and be able to read or write, but on the floor near the window would do.

'Be a dear and bring us a glass of water,' Riddle ordered, pointing to the sink. 'You can have one yourself, too, if you like.'

'That's mighty big of you,' Hermione said, giving him a look.

However, she turned towards the sink anyway and filled two glasses with water while he picked up everything else and moved to the window, sitting down with his back against the glass. She curtsied when she stopped next to him before placing the glasses down on the ground.

'I hope this is to your highness's satisfaction?'

'We shall see,' he replied, amused. 'It better be.'

Hermione slid down against the window, sitting next to him. 'Or else?' she dared him.

He smirked, checking over his writings. 'You really don't want to find out.'

'Hmm-mm,' she replied, not really saying anything before taking a sip of her water. 'Before the lights went out, you said something about the potions but you didn't finish. Something you weren't going to do?'

'Yes,' he said, looking at her seriously. 'I don't know how much of that scroll they allowed you to have, but I won't be translating that entire scroll for them. Those potions are far too valuable to share with dunces like them. In fact, they can pretty much kiss their arses goodbye to the majority of it.'

Mischievously, Hermione's eyes flickered down, changing the meaning entirely.

'I said they, Granger, not you.'

'Katie will be expecting something,' she tried.

'Well, that's just too bad then, isn't it? I'm all heartbroken. She'll have to learn to deal with disappointment—tell her to expect that. Now, onto more important matters, did you finish reading that book I told you to already?'

Her nose wrinkled. 'You mean that delightful, monotone read? Bleh.' She stuck out her tongue in disgust.

'I can't teach you how to merge subjects when you don't get the basics.'

'You're just trying to slowly bore me to death,' she complained, yawning to exaggerate her point. 'That witch takes more than a thousand words to explain that water is wet. After a couple of paragraphs, I have to start reading all over again because I can't even recall what I read a second ago. It's just so over-the-top, utterly boring contents.'

'She's not taking a thousand words to explain that water is wet; she's informing you it's dry as well.'

'Yeah, so I won't be needing a towel next time I shower,' Hermione sniggered.

'You need to get your head out of the sand, Granger, and become a bit more open-minded.'

'Oh, now look who's talking.'

'You're so keen on all the boundaries set by the mediocrity that you don't see that magic is in essence limitless,' he said, shifting his upper body towards her as he talked animatedly about his favourite subject, 'so fond of the laws of magic that you don't even see that they don't exist. They're a construct of the mind, a false fence created by frightened fools. However, those forcing themselves to stay behind it when they can achieve so much more are the worst kind of fools.'

He gave her a pointed stare, causing her to cringe inwardly. She really wanted to measure up to his challenges. She felt horribly embarrassed when she didn't get things he took for granted. It was just such horrid writing. She couldn't get through it.

'Magic is everything and nothing, endless, everywhere and nowhere at the same time. And yes, you don't need a towel after showering. If you can't see that, I am wasting my time. Don't bother coming back here till you've finished that book.'

'Wh–what?' she spluttered.

'You heard me,' he said, turning away from her and bringing the glass to his lips.

'But … I … I …'

Not knowing what to say, she could feel her cheeks burn in embarrassment. She had real issues understanding that book. If only it were a bit more entertaining and clear, she would've finished it ten times already. It wasn't the size. It was the stupid author not being able to communicate properly.

'And there will be a pop quiz on the contents,' he added viciously.

'Now you're just being an arse,' she snapped.

He whirled around fast, slapping the palm of his hand against the window next to her head. She flinched at the sudden fury in his expression.

'You have no idea how much you're off on that statement there, Granger, how lenient I've been with you. But if you insist, I am more than willing to switch that part off and show you the true meaning of pain. Get that book out of your coat's pocket at once and read the first chapter.'

'He–here?'

'Yes, he–here,' he mimicked, grabbing her notebook and starting to write with harsh, furious strokes.

She had no idea what he was working on since he'd finished with the translation some time ago, but she didn't dare ask now.

'You're not leaving until I am satisfied that you have absorbed the knowledge,' he added.

Hermione bit her tongue. A part of her wanted to deny having the book with her, but she had a feeling he'd turn over her coat and, once he'd found it, she didn't want to contemplate what he would do to her then. Not in the state he was currently in. Cautiously, she rose to her feet and went to get the blasted book. Too bad the author was dead already. Otherwise, she would've had a practise target for some of the more creative curses she'd invented. Marietta's pimples would be children's play compared to what she wanted to do to this bitch.

As she was reading the first chapter, she realised this was the ultimate recipe for disaster. She was seeing the letters, combining the words, reading the sentences but not getting it. She'd be stuck here forever. Upon reaching page twenty-nine, she'd got to the end of the first chapter. A sigh left her lips, and she scratched her neck nervously. She had absolutely no idea what that chapter had been about. Again. She raised her hand to flip back to the beginning when Riddle spoke.

'What's the conclusion of the chapter?'

She didn't know where to look. Correction: she did know where she didn't want to look—at him.

'The main theme then? The general question she's stating? No?' he asked, searching her by now thoroughly red face for a reaction.

More questions followed that she had no answer to, and she felt herself becoming smaller and smaller in the process. This was utterly humiliating.

'I already said I didn't get it at all,' she said barely audibly. 'There is no need to rub it in.'

'I am not rubbing it in. I am trying to find the full extent of your confusion so I will know how and what to explain. I am very aware that it's a horrid chapter. It's a horrid book. The woman couldn't write, but she was brilliant. Her theories should be taught, not discarded because they're too difficult to understand.'

He asked her three more questions, and on the last one, she had a vague idea what the answer might have to be so she blurted it out, immediately noticing he brightened up.

'But I don't know what that means though. I am just quoting what was on page five,' she added quickly, worried he'd think she understood that and skip it in his explanation.

He smirked. 'At least you recalled what page it was on and what it said. That's a start. Now,' he grabbed his notes and pointed to a schematic that he'd created with his pen, 'magic as Dolcea sees it has the same point of origin and ending. Around it, it can flow everywhere, depending on the source, the environment and the recipient.'

'I don't get that,' she replied, frowning. 'This whole ending is also the beginning is giving me a headache. It's annoying, circular reasoning.'

'You had the use of a Time-Turner during your third year, yes?'

'How did you know that?'

'I have sources. Reliable ones. Who  _can_ read.'

'Funny.'

He smirked at her. 'You recall the rules of time travel?'

'Yes.' Even though he hadn't asked, she rapidly recited all of them.

'Impressive,' he said. She smiled until he wiped it off her face by adding: 'None of it is true. The limitations we have with the Turners originate out of the false presumption that nature wouldn't allow such dangerous occurrences as paradoxes to be possible, so it was never investigated to go further. To an extent, you can bend the forces of nature with magic, hence the couple of hours we were able to travel backwards and in which we were told to strictly abide by all the rules to avoid the collapse of time itself. Correct?'

Hermione nodded. That was what she recalled from it, and it made sense to her. You could only go so far in changing the various foundations of the world before it would explode in your face. It was irresponsible to want more. Perilous. If you were playing Russian Roulette with magic, eventually, nature would catch up with you.

'It's bullocks, Hermione, think about it. Really think. Once you go back one hour, what's to stop you from turning again and again and again and again until you've passed your birthdate or even beyond that?'

She figured lecturing Mr 'Let's-Split-My-Soul-Into-A-Kazillion-Pieces' on the moral implications would be a complete waste of time. 'Nauseousness,' she quipped instead.

He snorted.

'Meeting you as an obnoxious toddler,' she added.

'I've never been a toddler,' he quipped back.

Hermione sniggered, on a roll now. 'So … you're admitting you're obnoxious?'

'Depends on the perspective of whom you ask, I suppose,' he replied, his eyes glinting.

'I'd so drop you on your head.'

'Really? You wouldn't want to teach me love, change my evil, wicked ways and turn me into a good boy?'

Hermione scowled. 'And hold my breath while I am at it?'

He brought his hands to his chest in mock shock and despair. 'You wouldn't even try?' he asked in a tiny voice, sounding positively hopeless.

'Nope,' she replied immediately, making a face at his impeccable acting skills. 'I am definitely dropping you on the head. Better result, much faster.' She nodded, smiling brightly at the visual in her mind.

'Pah, you're too much of a goody-two shoes to cause a temporal disturbance of that magnitude,' he scoffed. 'It's not allowed to alter the timeline. We must not be seen,' he said in a bossy voice that eerily reminded Hermione of herself.

'Goody-two shoes?' she snorted. 'Seems your reliable sources have been napping.'

'Why, what did you do: Cross the street without using the zebra crossing?'

He brought the glass of water to his mouth and tipped it.

'I killed someone this morning.'

He nearly choked. The water flew straight back in the glass as well as travelled up his nose. Tom coughed violently, quickly placing the glass to the side. Hermione patted his back, but there was a mocking edge to her assistance. When he'd finally stopped coughing, she held out her glass to him. Tom drank up the rest of her water and then turned to her immediately.

'Did anyone see you?'

Her eyebrows rose. That was his first comment, not whom, why or how?

He grabbed a hold of her upper arms and shook her. 'Granger. Did. Anyone. See. You?' Tom asked, urgency flowing through his clipped tone of voice.

'No,' she said, pulling away in irritation. 'What's the matter with you?'

'Are you positive about that?'

'Yes, well, there were two people who saw me enter the building, but I wore a Glamour and they were Muggles. However, it doesn't matter. It's going to be ruled as a natural death anyway.'

'How'd you manage that?'

'I cast a damn Sleeping Charm, okay. I didn't mean to kill the bloke, but he died on me. No idea why. People aren't supposed to die from a simple "Somnus".'

'He died from a cast Sleeping Charm?' Tom asked, furrowing his brow.

'Yes, and he was ancient already, trying to hide it by dyeing his goatee black. They're going to find that he died in his sleep, which he did.'

'People don't die from a Sleeping Charm,' Tom stated surely.

'Tell that to the Professor.'

'No, I am serious, Granger. People just don't die from Sleeping Charms, not even from miscast ones.'

'I didn't miscast anything. It was perfectly executed.'

Tom ignored her remark. 'Sure, they can go into a coma if it's too powerful, but die? I never heard that before.'

'Me neither,' she acknowledged, withstanding the impulse to once again remind him she'd not erred in her casting.

'Maybe he had some underlying condition that triggered it in combination with the Sleeping Charm?'

Hermione shrugged. 'Never read anything about him having health issues. He seemed healthy enough for a hundred-and-eighty-year-old.'

'You killed Ammon Horus Eleftheriou?' Tom exclaimed, amusement ever so evident in his expression.

_Crap! Too much information._

He leaned in towards her. 'I wonder why you'd possibly be interested in talking to him of all people,' he teased, laughing in an obviously gloating manner.

'Yes, yes, you win,' she intervened. 'You already had the scrolls so I wasted all my time trying to keep certain potions from you.' She'd rather he'd hold that over her head instead of him realising she'd allowed the professor to translate the collar. 'And that poor man died for nothing.'

'Poor man,' he scoffed. 'Don't be such a bleeding heart. He lived the last forty-five years on borrowed time, insisting that Parseltongue verbs come before nouns just because they're on another line, and don't remind me of all the negating dots he miraculously kept seeing everywhere.' A disparaging noise left his throat, followed by some incomprehensible, irritated muttering.

It was silent as Hermione moved her arms around her knees and leaned forward, staring angrily in the other direction. She felt even worse now, knowing she'd done him a favour by killing Eleftheriou. From the corner of her eye, she noticed he casually crossed his ankles and was apparently lounging on the floor.

'Still odd though,' he mused, breaking the silence. 'I was expecting you to experience some magical issues, but they should only be related to the amount of power you cast with, not—'

Her head flashed back in his direction. 'You were expecting this and didn't warn me?' she hissed.

He eyed her warningly. 'As I said,' he began slowly, 'any magical issues should be related to the amount of power of a casting, not change the whole meaning of the spell as it did with that Sleeping Charm. Did you have any other incidents besides that?'

'No,' she immediately replied, but then her mind recalled it. 'Well, actually … I blew up a rock when I tried to erase a rune I carved into it. I had no explanation why that went wrong, too. Still don't. I never mess up on my casting like that. It's weird.'

Tom seemed positively puzzled. 'This certainly is interesting,' he said, scratching his neck. 'What you should experience are surges in power when you accidentally mingle my magic with yours upon casting.'

'I thought that was impossible with you in here,' she countered.

'It's not possible for me, but it sure is for you,' he replied, looking at her meaningfully. 'My blood carries my magic, and that was used to form this bond. It is, therefore, present outside this cell and accessible to you. It's why I need you to read that book fast and get a firmer understanding on how magic works. I can't have you be overwhelmed by it.'

The snort escaped her. 'You sure think highly of yourself.'

'I'm being realistic, Granger. To suddenly have access to an additional source of magic you're not used to can be a disturbance to a degree that it could kill you. I really need you to start taking this seriously and pay attention.'

'So that  _is_ how I killed the professor?'

He shook his head. 'If you'd cast anything that upon adding extra power to it could be deadly, I'd be the first to affirm your conclusion. However, Sleeping Charms are never deadly. Something else happened, something I can't explain—' He pinched the bridge of his nose, and a brief flash of annoyance was ever so visible in his otherwise blank expression. '—which makes it even more urgent that you learn how to control the power. You need to be aware of your magic when you cast and you need to learn to integrate it with mine, fast. If we can exclude that and once you're more aware of what you are doing—'

Hermione huffed in indignation.

 **'** — _ **precisely**_ ,' Tom emphasised, 'then maybe we can deduce the reason behind those unusual occurrences. So, back to the theory in this chapter.'

He handed her the notebook and began walking her through his explanation. After a long, heated debate and many scribbled diagrams later, Hermione smacked his arm, enlightened.

'But that means that if you can sense the essence of your magic, the control you have over it would be endless,' she said, excited.

Riddle smiled and nodded. 'And that means …?'

'When something is endless, it's everywhere at once. It's the beginning and the ending. Oh, now I get it!' she exclaimed, relieved. 'Magic flows with a certain degree of power, and that power is related to the surroundings it is used in, the caster and the receiver. And one can vary that by changing one or more of the three components. And if you got enough control, you can influence it all at once. But how to get that to work?' she mused to herself.

'Practise,' he answered.

Hermione looked up.

'Which is exactly what you need to do,' he added seriously. 'Since you're dealing with two sources, now that our magic has mingled for you, you need to be able to identify what's yours and what's mine at all times and use it properly. Go someplace uninhabited and start with something small. Try isolating your source first and cast with that. Get a good feeling of your own magic before drawing in mine and then casting again. Make sure you take proper precautions because the result of that casting will likely turn quite volatile. It's imperative you learn how to merge my magic with yours quickly, Hermione. Your life may very well depend on it one day.'

The sheer urgency and seriousness he was displaying made her swallow, and she nodded to indicate that she got the severity of the situation.

'Until you've got it under control, be careful with the amount of power you put behind your spells, and don't cast when you're emotional under any circumstance. Emotions tend to double the raw power normally. In your case, I am assuming it's going to be somewhat more than double the energy. I can't be sure how much it will enhance the force of your magic, or maybe even alter considering we have no idea what caused those misfires yet, so this will be a trial-and-error learning curve for you.'

Hermione rubbed her fingers through her hair, massaging her temples, and sighed. 'Anything else?'

'Well, you could always do some practising on your ex,' he suggested playfully. 'Maybe test out that Sleeping Charm on him.'

Sighing tiresomely, she closed her eyes and softly banged against the window with the back of her head. She wasn't dignifying that with any verbal response. Nope, definitely not.

'Oh, I almost forgot,' Riddle said, taking her notebook back and flipping to a page at the back. He quickly tore it out and folded it two times. Then, he wrote an address on it and held it out to her.

Her brow furrowed when she read  _Pain and Pleasure Palace at 16A Knockturn Alley_.

'What's this?' she asked, holding up the folded paper bemused.

'A shopping list,' he replied with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

'May I?'

'You may.'

Her eyes flew over what seemed to be quite a long and kinky list of magical sex items, some of which were pretty obvious in use and some she'd never even heard of.

'You do realise that nothing that's magically powered will work in here,' she commented.

'Most of them work without magic as well, and those that need magic … well, let's just say I know just the thing.'

She quirked an eyebrow at that, but he wasn't elaborating.

'This all will be useless since you're not allowed to touch me,' Hermione taunted with an overly saccharine smile on her face.

'Yesss, well …' he said in a low voice before pausing to build up the dark anticipation growing between them as he slowly moved his arm behind her body, placing his palm against the window. Subconsciously, she allowed him the space by moving an inch forward.

'I think you'll find—' he breathed against her hair, causing it to brush into her face and tickle her cheek. He shifted to his feet in an elegant, catlike move, suddenly towering over her in a crouch. His predatory manoeuvre made her draw back in reaction, bumping into his arm with her shoulders and jolting back forwards at once. The corner of his mouth curved up, and his eyes glinted in mockery as he continued huskily:

'—Hermione—'

She held her breath when he drew his long fingers over the floor between her legs, stopping as he reached the hem of her skirt at mid-thigh. His eyes darkened, and she swallowed in reaction, desiring and fearing that feral intensity of his all at the same time. She leaned back again, wanting to get some distance between them since the air she was breathing had suddenly turned incredibly hot and oppressive. She realised he'd had to have moved the arm behind her back because she didn't bump into him. Her eyes darted sideways to find his hands were now on either side of her head, boxing her in and stabilising him as he leaned towards her face. She was trapped. Completely. She knew it and he knew it. His eyes were shining in victory as he proceeded to whisper against her lips.

'—that I won't need to touch you—' He tilted his head as if he were about to kiss her. '—in order to—'

His breath tickling against her lips, that soft, husky tone of voice he was using and the way he was towering over her were driving her mad. Her whole body was thrumming in anticipation. She licked her lips; her pupils dilated as she slid down—farther and farther—whilst he matched her movements as in a coordinated dance, forcing her to lie down, guiding her into submission, without a single touch. Her skirt had almost completely ridden up, yet she didn't notice how exposed she was. Her breathing was ragged, and her wide eyes were focused solely on him, waiting in desire for his next command as he hovered above her body.

'—show you how much you are mine,' he finished, blowing his breath against her throat's sensitive skin as he traced her jawline with his mouth.

'Ooooh,' she moaned, closing her eyes and spreading her legs. It felt like she was burning up inside, like her clothes had suddenly become too tight, and her nipples were hard peaks rubbing against the fabric with every inhalation.

'Are you offering yourself to me, Hermione?'

Hopeful, her eyes met his. 'Yes, pleassse.' She spread her legs wider.

A vicious chuckle reached her eardrums, causing her to shudder.

'So ready, willing and able,' he whispered. 'So wet for me.' He blew his breath into her blouse's cleavage, making her ache for more contact.

'Please,' she repeated. 'Please, Master.'

'Touch yourself,' he ordered coldly.

Hesitantly, Hermione moved her hand to her core. This wasn't exactly what she had in mind. She wanted him to touch her there. Still, she complied, parting her folds with her fingers and then slowly moving her fingers up and down into her wet centre, while her thumb rolled over her clit. The way he was scrutinising her every move made her clench hard around herself, and she let out a whimpered moan. This felt different from pleasuring herself on her own, she realised. Feeling that dark gaze fixed on her rose her desire to unbelievable heights, and she began moving her fingers in earnest.

'Taste yourself.'

She froze in her movements. She'd been so close, so close to completion. In a brief moment of insanity, she contemplated on ignoring his order. Then, a wicked thought entered her mind, and she withdrew her hand. Slowly, she placed the tip of her fingers against her lips and kept them there. Their eye contact intensified when her tongue darted around one finger in a tease. Then, she licked the tip of her middle finger and withdrew. Her mouth formed a tiny 'O', and with her fingertips, she caressed every inch of her lips, wetting them with her juices. Tardily, she placed her fingers together and stretched them out, entering her mouth oh so slowly as she rolled her tongue around and began sucking. A triumphant feeling rushed through her when she saw the sharp intake of breath on his end, and she smiled teasingly at him as she sucked her fingers clean one by one.

'Nice show, wife,' he said hoarsely, immediately recollecting himself upon realisation and ordering in a cold, harsh tone: 'Enough with the demonstrations, suck this.'

He sat up on his knees—his legs on either side of her waist—and lowered his trousers together with his underwear at the same time, making his sizeable erection spring free. Appreciatively, her eyes wandered over his proud mast, enjoying how her little show had already got him hard and dripping.

'Well, what's keeping you? Do you need a manual and directions to get there?' he taunted.

'Already at that point of no return?' she taunted back. 'I suppose that means I will have very …  _ **little**_ to do,' she said, her eyes deliberately darting to his cock whilst emphasising heavily on the word 'little'.

His eyes glinted menacingly. 'I suppose that means your …  _ **big**_ mouth will have no problem taking all of me.'

'Not at all, Mr Impatient.'

She scooted farther down until his knees touched her arms and he was right above her. Bending her back and leaning on her elbows, she brought her mouth to his cock and teasingly flicked the underside of the tip with her tongue. His whole body jolted, making her smirk in vicious satisfaction as she leaned back. She was going to enjoy this. Making sure to have some extra saliva in her mouth, she slowly kissed the head, swirling her tongue around the sensitive rim in a gentle caress. Tom groaned, closing his eyes as his shoulders dropped in relaxation. Keeping a close eye on his reactions, Hermione began picking up the pace. She varied the pressure of her tongue on different areas of his head, giving extra attention to that one spot at the underside that made him utter some incomprehensible noises, drop his head back and clench his fists in order not to come immediately. It took all her willpower not to continue teasing that spot; however, she didn't want this to be over instantaneously. So, she redirected her attentions to other areas, licking and lapping as she went. She went faster and faster, taking the entire head in her mouth and putting more and more pressure on it. He twisted on his legs and made all kinds of appreciative noises that she really enjoyed hearing. She could tell he was close and since she was feeling especially vindictive and powerful, she froze with his head in her mouth, keeping positively still.

'Granger,' Tom groaned warningly.

With his pupils dilated, his gaze was even darker than normally as he met her mischievously twinkling eyes. Keeping eye contact with him, she ever so slowly moved her mouth farther up, crossing the edge of his head for the first time and moving up the shaft for as far as she could. She kept still there, deliberately allowing her saliva to leak from the corners of her mouth.

'Oh fuck,' Tom swore at the sight of her, steadying himself against the window with his hands.

Hermione chuckled, causing him to hiss something unintelligently in Parseltongue at the vibrating sensation against his cock. Taking pity on him, she calmly retreated, putting more pressure on his shaft on the way back. As she passed that little V-shaped flap, she couldn't resist the temptation to stroke it with her tongue again. His cock twisted in her mouth, and Tom closed his eyes, letting out an elongated moan. She caressed the head softly with her tongue, sucking it lightly before she moved back up again. Her tongue swished around while her lips pressed harder against him as she moved down, making his cock exit her mouth completely. Quickly, she began planting soft kisses up his shaft, moving higher and higher until she reached his testicles and licked them softly.

A string of hissed noises fell from Tom's mouth, and she smiled against his skin, whirling her tongue around as she kept planting gentle kisses on him. She trailed the underside of his penis expertly before taking him fully in her mouth and pressing her head down forcefully. She couldn't get the right angle to deep-throat him in this position, but she still bopped her head up and down, sucking and nibbling carefully until he went to that moment of total abandonment and unleashed his load inside her. Panting heavily, he looked down at her as she swallowed it all and licked him clean on her way out, lowering herself fully to the floor this time and loosening her shoulders when her elbows no longer had to support her weight. She had the most satisfied, triumphant expression on her face as he placed his hands on either side of her head and lowered his face inches away from hers.

'You seem pleased with yourself,' he questioned softly.

'You mean you aren't?' she asked, arching an eyebrow daringly.

'It was … satisfactory,' he replied, wiping the perspiration from his brow with the back of his arm.

 _Satisfactory?_ Hermione huffed.

'Next time, don't forget you have hands.'

'Then next time, have me do this in a position where I can use them,' she countered.

'Very well,' he acknowledged, smirking at her. 'Now don't forget what I said: you need to practise casting and finish that book.' Abruptly, he sat back up, yanked up his underwear and trousers and stepped away from her. Just like that.

'Eh!' Hermione objected.  _What about me?_

He turned his head around, whilst buttoning up his trousers, and looked down at the dissatisfied witch with an evil grin. 'Well, as you said, I am not allowed to touch you, dearest.' He shrugged in what was the fakest apologetic gesture she'd ever seen him make and walked to the sink.

She narrowed her eyes, stabbing daggers at his back.

He drank a bit of water directly from the tap and splashed it in his face, drying himself with the towel before turning back to her. She was still lying in the same spot, her mind going over all sorts of horrible ways to curse him into oblivion.

'Of course …' he trailed off, placing his hand briefly on his chin in mock consideration as he walked back to her, 'if you were to rescind that rule, I may be inclined to return the favour.' His dark eyes came to rest on her expectantly as he halted next to her waist.

Hermione blinked in doubt.  _Rescind that rule? Give up the last bit of control I have in here? Is that even a sane consideration to make?_

He crouched down, his hands folded in front of him. 'Submit to me fully, Hermione,' he said barely above a whisper. 'I'll make it worth your while.'

Her belly pooled in need, and a part of her wanted to do nothing more than say 'yes'. However, alarm bells were ringing louder and louder in her mind. Quickly, she scooted away from him on her back, worried that if she stayed close, he might be able to change her mind.

'Er … I—I think,' she stuttered.

He leaned back on the ball of his feet, watching her with a small smile on his face as she scrambled to her feet in a hurry.

'I—I have to go. It's late. I'm late.'

'I'm sure,' he said, rising, too.

He was in the way. In between her and the door. Hermione bit her lip, not knowing what to do. Finally, she raised her chin and met his eyes. Yet, her breath got stuck in her throat with their proximity. His blank mask had firmly returned. His calmness was the complete opposite of her nervousness, and there was a certain edge of knowing victory to it.

'I'm not giving up on our "no touching" rule,' she said hoarsely.

He nodded. 'I noticed. There is no need to freak out about it, Hermione. It's your choice. Now, be a good girl and leave the switch in the "on" position on your way out. That way I can still get some reading done.'

'Of course,' she immediately agreed. 'No problem. I'll … I'll just get my things then and be out of your way.'

She stepped sideways to move around him at the same moment as he stepped sideways to let her pass, blocking her again. They both moved in the other direction, again being in each other's way.

'Oh.' She laughed, tossing her hands in the air in surrender and dropping her head back.

Tom sidestepped and made a courteous gesture towards her. 'My lady,' he said, smiling brightly.

'Thank you,' Hermione replied, getting her coat and her things before moving out. In the doorway, she stopped, unsure of herself all of a sudden. She turned back towards him. 'I'm sorry,' she whispered.

He gave her a blank stare.

'I didn't mean to—I have responsibilities—I just can't—I—'

'I'll see you tomorrow,' Tom interrupted calmly. When he saw her still hesitating, he added, 'It's all right, Hermione. I knew you'd report it. I would've been disappointed with you if you hadn't. Now go. It'll be morning in no time.'

'Yeah, I know. See you then,' she said cheerfully, sending him the brightest smile he'd ever seen her give him.

As the door closed behind her, he smirked triumphantly. Everything was going according to plan perfectly. Well, perhaps not everything. A frown appeared on his forehead when he recalled Hermione's incident with the Sleeping Charm. Now that was definitely an issue he needed to figure out. And … there were two potential witnesses that needed to be eliminated. Glamour or no Glamour, Muggles or no Muggles, it was too big a risk and he wasn't about to lose everything on account of his wife getting arrested for murder. He'd have to have someone tie those loose ends as soon as possible—someone who could handle something like this discreetly. He knew just the man. However, his contact to the outside world wouldn't arrive for another fortnight. He kicked the table in frustration. Two weeks, he hoped it wouldn't be too late.

xxx

Dark-grey thunderclouds rolled by above her. The atmosphere was menacing, unruly and deadly. Her hair flew wildly around her face. Her robes billowed in the cold, harsh wind as she stood in the desolate landscape: feet slightly apart, arms out wide, her wand outstretched, held loosely between her fingers. A lone figure at the end of the world. Nothing lived here; nothing ever could. Yet, her brown eyes were determined as she focused every tendril of her being on the spell she was about to cast.

She had come to sense it, clearer and clearer: her magic. How it roamed inside of her, never sitting still, never staying in one place longer than necessary, moving endlessly, without boundaries or limitations. It went as it pleased, jumping from cell to cell, node to node, sailing the swirling streams of blood or diving into the waterfalls of lymphatic fluids, flying over her spinal nerves, bouncing from brain cell to brain cell, activating and energising everything in its wake. She'd never been aware of all this before. She'd taken magic for granted, cast the spells without consideration, without a second notice, without wondering where it all came from, without real and true focus.

No more.

Hermione Granger had found her way,  _her magic,_ and it was wondrous.

She'd followed its lead, searching for where it went, how it was shaped, how it moved, what it wanted and when she saw the essence, the true nature, she'd taken the leashes back in hand, never to give them up. Her wand swept through the air in an arc. Out of nowhere thousands and thousands of tiny crystal spheres erupted around her. Keeping all of them levitated individually was a feat worthy of a Charms Master, but it wasn't enough for her. She moved them around, at different speeds and in different trajectories, her focus so immaculate that none collided, a true conductor of the dance of the spheres.

This was bliss. Heaven. The ultimate joy.

Yet, she felt a disturbance at the edge of her shadow, pushy, controlling, domineering. Power so alluring, so overwhelming, that she didn't dare touch it. Power so dark, so pervasive, that she was sure to drown within a moment's notice. It whispered to her, whispered in soft, gentle tones, a warm breeze within the cold, harsh wind.

_Let me in … let me in … let me in._

Her spheres changed colour, one by one. Controlled, coordinated, she steered her magic to do her bidding with ease. It felt like coming home after a long, exhausting trip. This was how you were supposed to cast. As one.

Something roamed in the corner of her eye, something that lingered in darkness, hiding, biding its time, waiting for a brief moment of negligence to slither in and take over. Calmly, she observed, analysed and … experimented.

That moment was coming again.

Fire this time, she decided.

Magical fires had always been a specialty of hers. It came easily to her, instinctively—she never really had to learn how to cast them. She now understood why. Her magical essence was hot. It loved the heat, the flames, the burning, crackling noise. And inside herself, she felt her magic's joy at the prospect of transfiguring all these crystals to blue bell flames. It wanted to do that, already connecting to her wand's core for the amplification—dragon heartstring. All of her wands had dragon heartstring cores. That made perfect sense to her now. Fire, her wand and magic wanted to breathe fire.

Yet, she held her magic in check, focusing on that what wasn't hers. It stilled at the attention, darkness drawing inward, ready to pounce. Cautiously, she turned one crystal into a blue bell flame and send it at that force in the shades. The flame flickered then burned with a soaring intensity that made her avert her eyes.

 _So, you like fire, too,_ she concluded.

Her mind acknowledged the connection. Something to draw upon. Finally. Maybe this time she wouldn't get blown off her feet.

Her wrist twitched, and another blue bell flame came to life. Slowly, she steered it towards that outside source of magic.

_Come on, come on, react! Give me something. Anything._

Dark tendrils drew towards the flame, making her do a little jump of joy inwardly. She forced the blue bell flame back quickly, sensing the tendrils reach and miss. It roared, contained, bellowing furiously at the missed opportunity. It tried to break her barriers, tried to force its way in as it had done before and thunder all over everything that made her who she was. But this time, she was prepared and didn't allow it passage inside.

She held up her left hand in a stop sign, whilst her wandhand moved the flame a little closer but just out of reach.

It happened; she sensed the slight withdrawal and moved the flame towards it instantaneously. Again, she had to close her eyes at the intense burn of fire that followed. But it was worth it, for when she opened her eyes again, everything felt different. There was an expectancy to the force now, a patient quality. She created a new flame, and the darkness remained stationary. With a flick of her wrist, she sent the flame soaring towards it. The generated heat of the added burn was still intense but with a sense of control and restraint. This was what she'd been hoping for: cooperation. Whilst crystals all around her transformed into blue bell flames at the command of her magic, Hermione turned the wrist of her left hand, palm open towards his magic, inviting it in, cautiously.

Tentatively, the force approached her, touching her fingertips first. She didn't fight it; she kept her open stance. It was welcomed like this. It was a weird sensation, feeling it move on, crawling inside her arm and slowly spreading onward. It was different than before when it came barging in and caused her to crumble into a heap on the floor, unable to move or do anything, feeling like she were at the centre of a black hole being crushed together by the sheer force of his magic until she passed out. Now, it twirled around her magic, moving forward in cohesion instead of eradication. A tingling feeling spread over her skin; her body temperature rose as did her energy levels. She felt the sudden connection between his and her magic, the link it made to her wand, and instinctively, she cast.

All around her, the fire roared and bellowed, transforming from harmless blue bell flames to violent Fiendfyre. White-hot flames reached for the sky, crackling and hissing. Figures erupted in those flames, dancing around her but never touching. Her control was absolute. She could sense it. Oh such joy! Such delicious desire. She spread her arms wide to absorb the full extent of the power. It was intoxicating. She lived and breathed power.

'Oh yesss,' Hermione moaned, tossing her head back and closing her eyes.

It gave her wings. She floated on the power, feeling invincible, untouchable, all-powerful and all-knowing. This was her time. She couldn't lose. The sheer magnificence was overwhelming. This would never end.

She opened her eyes to find she was hovering thirteen feet up in the air along with the Fiendfyre. A terrified shriek left her lips, and she plummeted to the ground with a heavy thud.

So much for being in control.

Pain shot through her body. Hermione groaned, lying still on her back as she watched a roaring lion in the sky shift to a giant eagle whose wings spanned beyond her eyesight. The Fiendfyre was expending rapidly even without her adding power to it. She had to stop it. Carefully, she moved her sore limbs to check for any broken bones and let out a relieved sigh when she seemed fine apart from her battered muscles and what would obviously become a set of ugly bruises. Scrambling to her feet, she acknowledged that not only had his power been infectious, his arrogance was contagious, too. Hermione shook her head at herself. Then, she focused on turning out the Fiendfyre. She knew the countercharm. However, since this Fiendfyre was fuelled by her and his magic, she would need both to extinguish it. Hermione closed her eyes, going inwards, searching and finding. She'd not expelled his magic this time and it was still there, lingering, slithering around seemingly harmless until called upon.

Which was what she did.

Satisfied, Hermione looked up to the thunderclouds rolling by in the sky. The Fiendfyre had been properly extinguished, and she decided to call it a night. This had been a productive session and it was best to stop on a high note. Now that his magic was working with hers instead of against, she felt secure enough to go back to the civilised world and use magic without blowing everyone to pieces accidentally. Besides, she was supposed to be at the Burrow for dinner half an hour ago. Tonight, after the party, she was going to tell Ron their relationship was over.

xxx


	11. Surprise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My thanks go to my super betas: Serpent In Red and Cosettex.

**The Prisoner**

**Chapter 11: Surprise**

When she walked up the road towards the Burrow's entrance, she found Harry sitting on the rusty, iron gate in deep thought.

'Eh, you!' she exclaimed, surprised. 'Why aren't you inside?'

He looked up and smiled when he saw her. 'Waiting for Ginny,' he explained, standing up. 'Besides, I think something just exploded in there; the whole ground shook.'

'So George's already in.'

Harry chuckled. 'That's probably a safe bet.'

Before she could stop him, he grabbed a hold of her and kissed her on both cheeks. However, unlike with Neville, nothing occurred and she relaxed.

'It's good to see you again, Hermione.'

He held her a bit longer than propriety allowed, and she got concerned. 'Is something wrong?' she asked, leaning back and scrutinising his face for signs of trouble.

'You tell me,' he replied, giving her a knowing look.

Hermione sighed and pulled out of his arms, turning around to lean against the iron gate, too. 'What did Ron complain about this time?'

'Nothing, it's exactly that. It's what you both aren't saying. Hermione, Ginny and I aren't blind.'

They sat there in silence for a while. This was exactly what she'd always liked about Harry. He could take a hint and not pester her for information, unlike some other people she knew. He gave her time to think. It was always familiar and comfortable, being with Harry.

'I'm going to tell Ron we should spend some time apart after the party tonight.'

Harry let out a long breath. 'That's not going to go over well.'

'Exactly why I'm telling him afterwards. I don't want to screw up Molly's joy at getting the whole family together for once,' she explained with a sigh, turning to look at the crooked house in the distance with nostalgia. 'I'm going to miss this place,' she muttered. 'I basically spent my childhood here. It's strange to think this will be the last time I'm going to set foot in there.'

'You're always welcome at my house,' Harry said, taking her hand and squeezing it.

'You're married to his sister, Harry. We both know how this is going to turn out.'

'Yeah, with Ginny hexing Ron everywhere she can for destroying his marriage and hurting you,' Harry replied, giving her a wink. 'She already wasn't amused when she noticed his ring at the office today, told him off for thinking for a second that thing fooled anyone, especially you.'

Hermione snorted. There were moments when Ginny reminded her a lot of Mrs Weasley. To be honest, she wouldn't put it past Ginny to really curse Ron, but he was still her brother. In the end, family would come first.

'It was a pretty bad Transfiguration,' Hermione said, shaking her head. 'I really didn't know what to say.'

'He did search for his real ring for a long time,' Harry explained, trying to lift some of the blame off Ron. 'Practically destroyed the drainage system in the Auror shower rooms. If I hadn't told him to stop, we might not have had indoor plumbing anymore at the Ministry with the way he was sending spells down the drains.'

'I wonder if he wanted to get caught with it,' she added, furrowing her brow as the thought suddenly hit her. 'He's not that bad at Transfiguration, and you got plenty of Transfiguration Masters on staff who could've made him a perfect copy, right?'

'I don't know what he was thinking,' Harry said uncomfortably, ruffling through his hair with his hand. 'Maybe he subconsciously wanted a row so you two would at least communicate for once?'

'Yeah, well, it doesn't really matter anymore, does it?' she pondered rhetorically. 'We should never have got married. I can't believe I didn't see that before. What was I thinking?' She tossed her hands in the air and exhaled in irritation. 'I ruined everything, especially our friendship, and you warned me. You saw that we, as a couple, weren't a good idea. Why didn't I listen to you back then?'

Harry shrugged. 'Maybe because you were too much in love and couldn't see straight,' he answered gently. 'I know I never saw Ginny's flaws until we were well into our second year of marriage.'

'But you two are happy, right?'

'Yes.'

'How do you two do that? I mean with everything that happened. Doesn't it come back to haunt you and her?'

'Ginny and I have a lot more in common than you and Ron, Hermione. We want the same thing out of life. We have the same hobbies. Hell, she made it her job. I am jealous,' he joked, chuckling. 'I'm not living in the past; I'd go nuts if I did. One time was more than enough, thanks.'

'Yeah, I suppose.'

'You need someone more suited for you,' he said thoughtfully. 'Someone who is more interested in moving forward and investigating intellectual subjects, someone who can keep up with you in a debate, someone a bit more intense and ambitious than Ron and not so unsure of himself that he'd hold you back, or at least, that's how I see it,' he added the latter apologetically as if it were his fault their marriage was failing.

Uncomfortably, Hermione shifted on the gate. The description had been a bit too fitting for her taste.

'I take it there isn't any chance of you two working things out?'

'No,' she said shortly. It was out of the question.

'Does the past haunt you and Ron?' Harry asked carefully after a moment of silence.

'He ran, Harry. He packed up his things and left us, right smack in the middle of the war,' she said, tight-lipped.

'It was the Hor—'

'If I hear that lame excuse one more time, I'm going to scream,' she hissed.

'You and I weren't exactly a joy to be around while we wore that thing either.'

'So that makes it okay for him to leave, because we were cranky?'

'No,' Harry said hastily. 'I meant that the locket affected us all. Not just Ron. I couldn't even cast a Patronus anymore with all the hatred he brought up inside of me, and I recall you turned awfully quiet whenever you had it on. You never shared why that was, too, by the way.'

There was a slight twitch in her face at the memory.

'You can't even say it, can you?'

'You'll laugh.'

Harry let out garbled noise that was anything but a happy sound. 'I don't think I'll ever find anything he did amusing.'

'Not even trying to Avada you for the hundredth time?' she joked, trying to change the mood by bringing up a 'lighter' subject.

Harry snorted.

'You'd think that after the first ninety-nine, he'd have the intelligence to try something different. But he sure is persistent, I'll grant him that. Must love the saying: If at first you don't succeed, try again and again and again and again,' she said, rolling her eyes tiresomely before glancing out of the corner of her eye to see Harry doing his best to hold in his laughter. 'And look at you,' she continued in an overly disparaging tone of voice, gesturing up and down his body whilst he chortled, 'I can't see what the problem is. Such a scrawny, tiny, bespectacled fellow. One blow to the head with that posh snake cane of Malfoy would've done the trick.'

'Oye! You so aren't killing me with anything Malfoy-related,' Harry objected in fake indignation.

'So am,' she teased.

'Besides, any plans to kill me with that sissy thing went burst after he broke it,' Harry said, glancing in her direction expectantly.

He wasn't disappointed. When she met his green eyes, her lip twitched. Then, her shoulders shook, and finally, they both burst out into a roaring fit of laughter.

'Ca-can you imagine the look on Lucius's face?' Hermione asked, cracking up.

'I'd have paid good money to see that,' Harry said, guffawing. 'Actually … I could have if a certain someone hadn't insisted I needed to shut him out all the time.'

'Oh, like you were actually trying,' she scoffed.

'If it weren't for you, we could've had a Pensieve Party tonight, watching that over and over again. I might have even been able to sell the memory on, become rich, never having to work for the rest of my life.'

'Yeah, poor, destitute Harry James Potter,' Hermione mocked.

'Finally she feels sorry for me. It's about time.' Harry laughed when she smacked his arm in reaction. 'You know, since you ruined my chances at lucrative Memory Dealing, you could slip me some cash after you get your new paycheck.'

Hermione gaped at him. 'How do you know I got a promotion? I just heard it this morning.'

'Head of the Auror Department,' Harry replied, patting his chest smugly. 'I have my sources.'

'Lemme guess: tall, bald, broad-shouldered and wearing one gold earring, going by the title Minister for Magic these days.'

'Maybe it is, maybe it isn't,' Harry replied lightly.

'Bunch of gossipers you lot are.'

'Our lot?'

'Aurors, always yapping away.'

'At least we're not trying to appear overly important by using the phrase "I cannot speak of it" every single time something comes up.'

Hermione stuck out her tongue at him.

'Oooh, look at me, I'm a mysterious Unspeakable. You know I must be doing something really, REALLY important,' Harry mocked. 'Pah! I'm betting all you lot do the entire day is play cards.'

'Projecting now, are we?' she teased.

'Or maybe you catch up on your sleep in your offices. Class A Snoozer. Yep, that must be it. I always knew you were a true government employee.'

'Oh, go eat a donut.'

'So, how was your day?' Harry asked teasingly.

Hermione just glared at him in reaction while he burst out in laughter at her silence.

'And yours?'

'Oh pretty interesting. Sat in a couple of administrative meetings, got my Aurors to catch a few bad guys, assisted the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures to direct some trolls out of a Muggle area unseen—you should see the paperwork for that one. It's humongous,' Harry added inconsequentially. 'And I sat in on the interrogation of Hogan Rumsfield.'

 _Rumsfield._ Hermione's alert level went up a notch. 'You sat in on an interrogation? Why?'

Harry frowned. 'Because I had, well,  _have_ a bad feeling about this bloke. Can't prove it though; his story is airtight, and there is nothing in his past that suggests any allegiance to Voldemort.'

'What did he do?'

'Well, we got the tip from Katie that he wasn't maintaining the ward he was paid to maintain, and she was right.'

'You got a tip from a snoring Unspeakable? Oh noes!' Hermione replied, clutching to her chest in mock shock.

Harry laughed. 'Okay, okay, I'll take it back. One of you is awake down there.'

'Fine,' she huffed, crossing her arms in front of her chest. 'I'll remember this.'

'I'm sure you will,' he replied, amused.

'You think this bloke's a Death Eater that escaped the Ministry's attention?'

'Don't you?' he countered. 'I mean, sure, we don't have any evidence, and yes, he has no marks on his body indicating he is, but not keeping a ward on Voldemort's cell … why else if he is not a sympathizer?'

Hermione shrugged. 'Some people are just lazy or stupid or both.'

'It's not a difficult or even time-consuming job to keep the ward up,' Harry continued. 'It made him good money, so why risk that income to save ten minutes of work a day?' He sighed. 'I just don't trust his lame excuse of finding the ward's presence bullocks.'

'Did you check his environment?'

'Of course,' Harry replied. 'His entire family is clean; his friends are; his ex-friends; his ex-girlfriends; his ex-ex-ex-ex-exes are; I'm betting if we checked his pets, they'd end up clean as well.'

'No connections to Voldemort whatsoever, anywhere?' Hermione asked, baffled.

'None. Nobody fought or supported him. There aren't even any bad rumours about the family in relation to this. And you know how much people love to badmouth others. It's like someone out there is cleaning up after them, squashing any rumours before they come to fruition.'

'Isn't Rumsfield a pure-blood?'

'Father half-blood married to a pure-blood witch.'

'And not a single connection anywhere in the family?'

'Yes.'

'I take it Veritaserum was administered?'

'No, it's useless. He swallowed the antidote at some point in his life.'

'Legilimency then?' she asked.

'Gets us running into a perfect wall.'

'I see why you're suspicious,' Hermione said, worrying on her lower lip. 'With those precautions in place and not having even one black sheep in the family, it's all a bit too neat.'

'Exactly what I was thinking,' Harry said, turning to her as he seemed glad to have found a receptive sounding board. 'Someone engineered this to be so. Hell, there are even rumours that I secretly support Voldemort. So how come there are none for the Rumsfields? And if we're right that this is the case for him, who is to say there aren't more out there like Rumsfield?'

Hermione blinked, furrowing her brow as she recalled his words.

_I would've been disappointed if you hadn't._

'Oh clever,' she said with a moan, 'very, very clever.'

She could just hit her stupid head against the nearest hard object for not realising this beforehand.

'What is?'

'Don't you see it, Harry, see where this inevitably leads us? Paranoia. That's what he is going for. Why else show someone that he can open that blasted door? Oh, that's brilliant, just brilliant,' she groaned.

'I never said how Katie knew,' Harry said, staring at her quietly.

_Oh fuck! Brilliant indeed, Hermione._

'Hermione?' Harry asked urgently.

'Could you forget what I just said?' she asked, giving him a pleading expression.

'I'm going to kill Katie,' Harry said, pushing away from the gate and pacing to and fro furiously. 'First, she comes to me with those blasted scrolls, hoping I can translate the damn things. Second, I tell her it's pointless to go to Riddle because no way is he going to give her the true translation. I warned her he'd just have a field day making everyone jump through a million hoops to get it while keeping the important information to himself in the end, and then, she decides to ignore everything I said and sends my best friend to him! I'll have her head on a platter.'

'No,' Hermione said firmly, blocking his path and grabbing a hold of him. 'No, you're going to calm down and not stick yourself in my business. You do your job and I'll do mine.'

'It's my job to protect British citizens, meaning you, from him,' Harry objected, his jaw set.

'Harry,' Hermione said warningly, 'I love my job … a lot. Please don't screw it up for me?'

His shoulders dropped, and he shook his head. 'I don't want to but—'

'Harry, please don't get involved in this. Please, please, please, trust me.'

'It's not that I don't trust you, Hermione. You know that. It's …' he sighed. 'At least tell me you're not going back there.'

She tilted her head and looked at him with a smile. 'It's like what you said, Harry. He's not translating the scrolls.'

Harry let out a relieved sigh and gave her a hug. As he walked back to the gate and settled back down on it, he asked with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes, 'Did he freak you out when he opened the door?'

'There is no reason to look so entertained by it,' she replied scornfully.

'Oh, oh, did you give him a Hermione Granger lecture on how it was NOT supposed to be able to open for him?' Harry asked hopefully, a chuckle breaking through his composure.

She tossed her hands in the air in resignation.

'Oh, you  _did_ , didn't you?' Now, he was really guffawing, clutching to his belly. 'You scolded Lord Voldemort,' Harry added in between roars of laughter. 'Would've loved to seen the look on his face.'

Hermione pressed her lips firmly together, trying to stop her laughter from bubbling to the surface.

_Crack!_

'Hi, Hermione ... Harry?' Ginny questioned, staring at her laughing husband bemused. 'What's so funny?'

'Hermione is,' he answered, pulling his wife in his arms and kissing her on the lips. 'What took you so long? I thought you had to submit your interview with the new Harpies' Beater before five.'

'I had to, but Milly walked with me to the paper and kept asking me about the baby and when we were due and if I'd return to the competition afterwards. Godric, she was really annoying. I couldn't shake her politely at all. I am afraid I had to be quite rude in the end in order to dump her and come here. She might've tagged along otherwise.' Ginny shivered before turning her attention to Hermione. 'Speaking of tagging along, where is your useless husband?'

_In jail._

'Ron's inside,' Harry answered.

'I had some work that needed finishing before I could make it here,' Hermione elaborated.

'Ah,' Ginny said, giving Harry a knowing look. 'Well, maybe we should go indoors then, too. It's freaking cold out here, and I need to pee. Again.'

'You are getting rather big,' Hermione said bluntly as they moved to the house.

'I know. Horrible, isn't it? With James, it wasn't nearly this bad, and I am not doing anything different.'

'You look wonderful, honey,' Harry said, shaking his head at Hermione behind Ginny's back.

'Oh yeah, just wonderful. I am a freaking whale. I swear if Albus isn't coming out soon, I'm going to magically yank him out,' Ginny grumbled. 'And don't be signalling to Hermione on what NOT to do or say, Harry James Potter. I'm pregnant, not stupid.'

'Ouch,' Hermione mouthed to Harry.

'Yes, major mood swings, beware,' he whispered.

'I am not deaf either,' Ginny called out, swinging open the door to the busy kitchen. 'Hi, Mum. We're here. I'd love to kiss and hug and say hello to everyone, but I'll be on the loo.' She waggled right on, ignoring the buzz in the room.

'Oye, Dad, did you get that new, extra sturdy toilet yet?' George shouted, receiving a slap on the back of his head from Angelina in reaction.

'Mummy, Daddy, I help Granny cook!' James yelled, running towards them.

'Really?' Harry said, sounding impressed as he scooped up James from the floor to allow Ginny a free path. 'Why don't you show me what you did then, and we can impress Mummy when she gets back.'

'YAY! Go there!' James said, pointing to the stove when he suddenly saw Hermione over his father's shoulder. 'Auntie Hermy, I made pie.'

'That's impressive,' Hermione replied, smiling. 'What kind of pie?'

'Er …' James looked to the ceiling, thinking hard.

'Apple, right, honey?' Molly answered, wiping her hands on her apron before welcoming Harry and Hermione.

'Yep, apple,' James repeated proudly. 'Look, look,' he pointed down to the oven.

'I see it,' Harry said. 'That looks tasty. Did you do all that?'

James nodded vigorously. 'I put in all the apples.'

'He was a really big help,' Molly said, kissing James's forehead.

'Auntie Hermy has to look, too!'

'I will, I will,' Hermione said, wiggling past them and checking out the contents of the oven, too. 'Oooh, that smells yummy,' she complimented.

James's face brightened further.

'Hermione!' Percy called out, patting on the seat next to him. 'I saw the paper on Kingsley's desk. We have to talk.'

_Merlin, not another cauldron bottoms filled evening, please._

However, she noticed the only free seats were available nearby Percy. Apparently, Harry and Ginny were going to suffer with her. Ron was sitting at the other end of the table, briefly waving at her while chatting to Bill.

 _Fine, don't save me a seat. What else is new?_ she thought sarcastically.  _It's probably for the best anyway_.

She plunked down next to Percy.

'Hello, Percy, Penelope, long time no see,' she said, looking past Percy and shaking the outstretched hand of his girlfriend. 'Talk about what?'

'Your promotion of course,' Percy said, puffing out his chest.

This was going to be a long evening.

xxx

 _Silence, blissful silence,_ Hermione thought as Ginny walked back inside with Harry. She stretched out her arms and legs, lying comfortably on a blanket in the garden at the Burrow while all around her flames nipped at the cold, winter air. Pots, crates, bowls and even a couple of vases in different sizes and colours played host to those magical flames, boosting the temperature up to degrees most UK summers didn't reach. Her head lay on her thick, woollen jumper, using it as a pillow. Yet, even though she wore only her sleeveless undershirt now, she was still perspiring. Hermione closed her eyes, enjoying the moment of relaxation to the fullest.

It was getting closer and closer to that moment that she dreaded: the moment when she would have to tell Ron that she wanted a divorce. Only a dessert stood in her way now, and then, they'd be going home, where she'd have to talk to him. She couldn't delay the inevitable any longer. It had to be done. Considering what happened to Neville, she'd been lucky they hadn't seen each other a lot these past few days. Ron had been working several double shifts to fill in for an injured colleague. However, that colleague was back now, so her chances of avoiding physical contact with Ron were getting slimmer and slimmer. Still, she wasn't looking forward to the talk, so she enjoyed the peace and quietness for as long as it lasted. A soft, rustling noise reached her ears and Hermione turned her head towards the nearby bushes. There, over the uneven ground, a small grass snake moved about, slithering towards her.

'Hello there,' Hermione said, sitting up. 'You shouldn't be out and about, poor thing. It's still winter. I suppose the heat confused you?'

The snake hissed softly as if understanding what she'd said.

Hermione raised her eyebrows when it came right at her. Her knowledge of snakes was limited, but she recalled perfectly well this species was supposed to be rather wary and shy of contact with humans. Fortunately, she also recalled it was harmless. So, when its tongue flickered out and touched her hand, she merely chuckled and stroked its head.

'I'm a bit too big for you to eat, and since it's not spring, I am afraid there won't be much food for you above ground now,' she explained, watching it raise its head and move up her lap.

There it curled around, folding itself into a tight ball.

'Fiiiine, don't mind me. Just make yourself comfortable. Must be a snake thing,' she said sarcastically.

'Hermione, Mum's aski— Blimey! There is a snake in your lap,' Ron said, staring at it wide-eyed.

'I know. I think the fire pots attracted it. It must think it's spring already and wandered out of the underground gnome corridors,' Hermione said, stroking the snake's head.

Ron stared anxiously at the ground underneath his feet. 'You think it came out from there?'

'Probably,' she replied, shrugging. 'It needs food in the winter, and you have quite a large gnome population living underground. I'll bet there is a huge number of grass snakes here, too.'

'You think there are more of them?' Ron squeaked.

'It's not a spider, Ron.'

'I know but— Watch out, it's moving.'

'Oh,' Hermione looked down, while the snake rested its head against her stomach. 'It's just trying to get comfortable. Don't worry, grass snakes aren't venomous. And this is a sweet, little one, aren't you?' She petted the snake softly. 'You got to feel this, Ron. It's amazing. I never petted a snake before.'

'Ermm… well, I—I—' He shuffled his feet.

'Come on, it's harmless. Can't you see that? I wonder if it's been someone's pet. It's so comfortable around humans.'

'But—but isn't stroking that rather slimy?' he asked, screwing up his nose.

'No, it feels like … like soft leather, I suppose: smooth, dry, silky. Come on, feel for yourself.'

Tentatively, Ron reached out. Immediately, the snake puffed itself up and hissed loudly. Ron jumped back, letting out a frightened 'Oye!' in reaction.

'Eh,' Hermione objected, grabbing the snake just underneath the head. 'What are you doing?'

It turned towards her; its round eyes focused on her face as it hissed gently.

'No, we don't hiss at people in this house,' she reprimanded, while its tail coiled around her waist.

'Yeah, I am sure he got that,' Ron said, making a face.

'It could be a she, too. I haven't checked. Oh look, it's settling down again,' Hermione replied, letting go of the snake's neck and ignoring the soft whimper Ron made because of that. Slowly, the snake slithered up her body, wrapping itself around Hermione's shoulders to get higher. 'See, you probably just startled it.'

'Sure, it's my fault,' Ron replied, rolling his eyes. 'I swear to you, right now, it's looking at me as if it's ready to kill.'

'It's not venomous. Besides, when grass snakes make that noise, it's always bluff. They often pretend to be dead when threatened. I saw a picture of that once.' Hermione chuckled, absentmindedly stroking the snake's tail that dangled against her belly.

'Well, when you're done petting that snake, Mum told me to inform you that dessert's ready.'

'Oooh, I better get up then, and you,' she redirected her attention to the snake, 'need to go back from where you came.' Carefully, she placed both her hands underneath the snake and lifted it from her shoulders. 'Let me take you there.' She rose to her feet and walked to the bush where she'd spotted it first. Her eyes searched the area until she found the small hole a few feet behind the bush in the dead undergrowth. There, she placed the snake down and ushered it back in. 'Enjoy your rest. No more coming out, though, not till it's spring for real.'

Accompanied by a string of soft hisses, the snake slithered back into the hole.

'There, it's back from where it came,' she said to Ron, satisfied.

'I should tell Mum she's got snakes in the garden,' he replied. 'Maybe she knows how to get rid of them.'

'That's illegal, Ron. Grass snakes are protected under the Wildlife and Countryside Act. It's an offence to kill or harm them. Surely, as an Auror, you should know these things.'

'That's Muggle law.'

'And?' Hermione asked, placing her hands on her sides.

'This isn't Muggle land.'

'This is still England, and you're supposed to abide by  _all_ the rules of this country.'

'Well, I can't know all of them laws, too.'

'Them laws?' she asked, looking at him pointedly as she crossed her arms in front of her chest.

'I—well—I me-meant,' Ron stuttered, tossing his hands in the air in desperation. 'Can't we just go and have dessert?'

Hermione snorted. 'I suppose,' she replied, causing him to let out a breath in relief and turn to go back indoors. 'But Ron,' she said to his back, 'we really need to talk tonight … when we're home.'

Ron stopped and turned around, hesitantly opening his mouth as if about to say something important back when Ginny peeked around the door and called out to them.

'Ron, what's keeping you and Hermione? I want some of that delicious-looking pie!'

'Yes!' George added loudly. 'We're starving in here. Haven't had a thing to eat yet.'

xxx

It was a cacophony of speech by the time Hermione retook her seat next to Percy and Ginny. A big slice of hot apple-pie was already placed on her plate, and the smell of it made her mouth water. Molly was waving her wand at a giant bucket filled with vanilla ice cream. A ladle scooped balls of it out and deposited them on Ron's plate.

'How many, Hermione?' Molly asked, hardly able to get herself heard over the noise. The Weasleys always had been a rowdy bunch. However, on days like these, when everyone was there, the ambient sound reached critical levels.

'One's just fine,' Hermione replied. She got two ladles full of ice cream.

Molly flashed her wand, banishing the bucket back to the giant freezer in the shed. Another flash of her wand and numerous piping bags filled with the most delicious, homemade whipped cream landed on the table.

'Enjoy, everyone,' she said, sitting down, too.

'Thanks, Mrs Weasley, you too,' Hermione said, hearing others say similar words of gratitude.

'It's delicious,' Arthur said, his mouth already full.

'—and then Angelina said, "Why don't you blow on it?" and I kid you not,' George said animatedly, grabbing the nearest bag and adding quite a generous amount of whipped cream on top of his pie, 'he actually did.'

Bill snorted.

'No way,' Charlie said, looking at Angelina for confirmation.

She nodded. 'He did. The proof is forever visible on the store's staircase.'

Everyone burst into laughter.

'Gotta go see that,' Ron muttered, looking around for a free piping bag and finding none nearby his seat. 'Hermione, could you pass me the whip cream?' he asked, nodding with his head to the bag next to her.

'Sure.' She flicked her wand at the bag, planning to levitate it over the table to Ron, when it shot up in the air like a rocket.

'Whoop!' George catcalled from a far.

Several shocked screams filled the room when the bag exploded and an endless amount of whipped cream plunged down like a fountain of snow. Percy jumped back, chair and all, and Penelope ducked under the table, both avoiding contact with the sweet foam. However, Hermione, Arthur, Harry, Ginny and Bill got the full dose of it, looking like snowmen. The tip of the exploded bag hovered above the table, producing more and more whipped cream by the second. Harry flashed his wand at it. Briefly, the substance froze in mid-air. Then, a loud, elongated farting noise accompanied the death of the production, and in the end, the tip clattered down on the table.

'Oh dear, oh dear,' Molly said, waving her wand to clean up the mess. 'Is everyone all right?'

'That solely depends on whether you like your whip cream. I'm good,' Charlie answered, grinning at the avalanche on top of his pie and digging his fork in.

'Here, Ron,' Ginny said wickedly, grabbing a handful off her soaked plate, 'your cream.'

Ron ducked just in time, and it soared over his head, smashing into the wall.

'Missed!' Ron shouted, lifting his head up triumphantly when Harry's pie smashed into his face.

'Score, Harry!' George yelled as Angelina dunked her ice cream into his opened mouth, making him yelp at the sudden coldness.

Soon, food was flying everywhere, and nobody seemed safe from the onslaught. Bill had a batter hat on top of his head. Molly got covered with whipped cream. Charlie quickly covered his plate and rushed to the children's table for safety. However, there, James was taking a liking to what his father was doing and he tossed his apple-juice in the air, shouting: 'Daddy, look!'

When the storm finally settled, everyone was laughing and waving their wands to clean up after them. Hermione aimed her wand at the mess on the wall. 'Evanesco!'

With a loud crash, the wall exploded.

'Protego!' Harry yelled, enveloping everyone.

Now everyone was staring at her dumbfounded. Nobody was used to Hermione botching up spells, let alone twice in a row.

Confused, Hermione stared at her wand and shook it in her hand as if to diagnose what was wrong. What was the matter with her? This wasn't due to Riddle's or her magic. She would've felt that. Besides, it would've been a lot more volatile if she'd lost control over his magic. She'd seen and experienced that earlier today. No, this was something else entirely, and it was getting ridiculous. She'd cast the Vanishing Spell a thousand times before without any problem whatsoever. And now it wouldn't even work for her verbally?

'Oh my …' Molly whispered, looking at Arthur knowingly. 'Oh my, oh my, oh my!'

Excited and practically bouncing on her feet, the Weasley matriarch flashed her wand to Hermione. Not seeing it coming on time, the spell collided with her, surrounding her in a bright, pink glow.

'I should've known!' Molly cheered, running to the frozen-to-the-floor Hermione and pulling her against her chest. 'You're pregnant! We're going to have a little girl!'

_Pregnant? But—but we can't … oh god._

Hermione just stood there like a statue, her face white as snow, while people patted her on the back in shows of support. Ron was equally nonresponsive, and Charlie had his mouth open wide in astonishment. Meanwhile, Molly wouldn't let go of Hermione and kept talking over her head. 'You remember, Arthur, with the twins …'

_Twins? I'm not having any twins._

'Yes,' Arthur replied equally happily, grabbing a hold of Ron and slapping him on the back. 'Nice going, son,' he said, before replying to his wife: 'You kept mucking up your spells then, too.'

'I can't believe I didn't see it sooner,' Molly said, practically smothering Hermione with her hug. 'You see, dear, we said not to worry, that all it would take was time and everything would be okay.'

She grabbed Hermione by the shoulders and pushed her back slightly, kissing her on both cheeks. Nothing happened, and she would've put it on Mrs Weasley being a woman if it weren't for the fact that Harry had welcomed her in with a kiss and there hadn't been a reaction then either. However, now was not the time to contemplate on the properties of the bond and why Neville had been the only one so far getting a shock. She had bigger issues.

_Pregnant? Please, don't let it be true. It has to be a mistake or something._

'Congratulations, dear, you're going to be a mother. Oh, you look a bit pale. Don't you worry, we'll help.' Another bear hug followed. 'A little girl.' Molly looked down fondly. 'I've always wanted a granddaughter. We got so many things to take care of. You're going to need a cot, and  _oooh_ , those cute, little dresses. I've always loved buying those. And I'll knit you some pink socks and baby hats if she's not a redhead. Pink looks horrible with red hair. But babies need hats; they lose too much body heat through their skull. I'd love to knit some pink ones this time. And you, young lady, you need to eat better. Come, come, sit, you shouldn't be on your feet.' She dragged Hermione into the nearest chair. 'I'll get you something to drink, sweetie. No alcohol.' Molly almost danced to the kitchen. 'Just the other day, I saw these adorable, little witch's hats in Madam Malkin's store. They were just to die for. I'm sure they'll be perfect for your daughter. Have you thought of a name yet? I suppose your mother would—'

'Don't worry,' Ginny whispered, blurring out Molly's babbling as she sat down next to Hermione. 'She'll only get worse.'

Feeling horrified, nauseated and dizzy all at once, Hermione looked sideways.

Ginny immediately stopped chuckling. 'Are you okay? Mum's too overwhelming, isn't she?' she whispered knowingly. 'I'll get you out of here. Just pretend to be sick.' Ginny stood up and pulled Hermione with her. 'Mum! Hermione and Ron have to go.'

'Uh?' Molly turned around and stared at her daughter with a confused frown.

'You know what it's like,' Ginny said, nodding with her head to the pale Hermione whom she was now supporting underneath her arm. 'Crowded room, just pregnant, food everywhere.'

'Oooh,' Molly said understandingly, slapping her hand in front of her mouth, 'of course, of course. Ron, go help your wife get home and to bed. Ginny shouldn't be lifting in her condition, Harry,' she added sternly.

Harry quickly pulled Hermione's arm over his shoulder, sharing a knowing glance with Ginny who rolled her eyes.

'Ron!' Molly reprimanded. 'Don't be such a man and do something to help Hermione.' She shook her head. 'I raised you better than this,' she added, muttering to herself.

As Ron finally seemed to come out of his stupor, he shook himself, hesitantly moving towards Hermione. Charlie rose from his seat, looking directly at his brother as he was about to pass him. He'd been the only one in the family not congratulating them.

'Ron?' he asked carefully, searching his brother's face.

'Not now, Charlie,' Ron hissed sharply under his breath.

Charlie nodded. 'Contact me when you need to. I'll be there,' he whispered, patting him on his shoulder.

Hermione felt like ice was thrown down her spine when Ron stopped next to her. She'd not looked at him once during all this. She couldn't bear it. She was a horrible, horrible person. How had this gone south so fast? She'd planned to go slow, to get a fake divorce to cover for the already existing one. And now, she was with child, and he'd think—he'd think … Oh Godric, help her.

Her emotions overwhelmed her.

'Hermione!' Harry said, alarmed.

She felt his arms tighten around her just before everything turned black in front of her eyes and she passed out cold.

xxx

When she woke up the next morning, she found Ron had already gone to work. On the one hand, she was happy about that because she really didn't know what to say. How could she possibly bring up a divorce now? On the other hand, the longer she waited, the worse it would be. Hermione sighed. She'd have to catch him at work and find a quiet place there to talk. This couldn't continue.

If only Molly hadn't insisted on bringing her to St. Mungo's yesterday, she could've had this horrible conversation done already. But by the time she'd been seen and helped by a Healer, it had been well past midnight. She'd been too tired to talk and had just dropped in bed and gone to sleep. Ron hadn't said much at all, she recalled. He'd just walked around like some zombie, letting his mother do all the talking at the hospital. Fat lot of help he was.

When she realised the snide remark that her mind had just made about her husband who'd not done anything wrong unlike her, her cheeks burned and she felt incredibly guilty. A guilt that she tried to wash away by practically drowning herself under the shower and scrubbing herself vigorously with soap.

It didn't work.

After she got dressed, Hermione made herself breakfast, recalling the heated discussion she'd had in private with the Healer. When she'd told the Healer that she wanted an abortion, the Healer had merely pointed to her neck and had said that she and her husband should've considered all the repercussion of a certain Moirae bond before entering into it. Apparently, an abortion was out of the question under Moirae's rules, just like a divorce was. The only thing the Healer could do for her was give her a potion to prevent the baby's magic from interfering with her casting. She'd taken that with her, wanting to research the side-effects properly first before ingesting it. Since she had to have this girl, she didn't want to screw her up before she was born already.

Merlin, she was going to have a child with Tom Marvolo Riddle, not exactly father-of-the-year material.

Dropping her head in her hands, she groaned. Her life couldn't possibly get more fucked up than it was right now.

xxx

Bells chimed as she entered the shop. It was a rather oddly configured building; it seemed more like a corridor than a room big enough to be a shop. Her eyes curiously swept around. Next to the entrance in front of the window stood a small, solid wooden counter with an old-fashioned cash register on top of it. Next to it lay a large, thick leather book that had 'The Ledger' printed on it in gold filigree. Other than that, the counter was remarkably empty—no displays of items to get customers to make a last-minute, unneeded buy. Thinking that was either remarkably considerate of the owner or just unknowledgeable, she checked out the rest of the store.

The entire left wall was filled with boring, brown boxes that only varied in size. The wall on her right held moving pictures of couples in various kinky sex acts, the items they used nicely displayed underneath it in glass casings. As the couples moved onto another stance or kink, Hermione noticed that the items in the casing underneath magically altered to display what they were now using. She smiled. That was quite a bit of impressive magic.

The centre of the 'corridor', as Hermione had dubbed the shop, was filled with clothing hangers holding lingerie, costumes, latex and leather outfits and other nightwear. Besides that there were racks filled with shoes that were obviously not to be used to walk a marathon on and glass display casings filled with all types of adult toys and potions bottles. Interested, Hermione scanned through the racks, occasionally pulling out an item of clothing that struck her fancy.

A curtain at the back of the shop got pulled to the side, and a blond, tiny witch in a tight, black, latex dress sashayed towards her on impossible stiletto heels with thick, plateau soles under the latex boots. Hermione put the dress she had in hand back in the rack and straighten out her back. Now, Hermione wasn't the biggest woman in the world, yet she could easily see over the head of the shopkeeper that was approaching her, despite the woman's footwear.

When she got closer, Hermione realised she didn't have short hair as she'd first thought. No, the witch's hair was pulled together in curls on top and at the back of her head, held together by a variation of knives with dragon, skull, Chimaera, cockatrice and werewolf decorations. It seemed like an awful lot of work to maintain to Hermione.

'Hello, I am Mistress Aphrodite,' the lady said in a surprisingly low voice for such a tiny person. 'Welcome to the Pain and Pleasure Palace. How may I be of assistance?'

'Good morning,' Hermione greeted politely. 'I have a list.' She ruffled through her long, pearl coat's pocket and dug it up. 'I shall require all of it,' she said, giving it to the well-manicured lady.

Her blue eyes scanned the list quickly. 'Is this to be used by you?'

Hermione raised her eyebrows. What kind of question was that? Did she think she would donate it to charity, hang it on her walls or what?

Mistress Aphrodite smiled. 'First timer, dear?'

'I don't see why that's any of your business,' Hermione replied, tight-lipped.

'If this is used by you on your partner,' she explained calmly, 'then I require his or her measurements and we have a problem for a significant part of your list. If it's to be used on you, we're good to go. Come to think of it, this does seem more like a man's handwriting—your Master?'

Okay, she'd no problem calling Riddle that in the privacy of his cell, but she so wasn't going to acknowledge that to a perfect stranger. 'It's to be used on me,' she answered instead.

Mistress Aphrodite's lip twitched in amusement, and her left hand stroked over the heft of a whip that was attached to her hip.

'If you were my slave, that attitude was going to get you into severe trouble, dear.'

'Look, I have to go to work. Could you just be a professional, do your job and supply me with this, or do I need to take my business elsewhere?'

'I can get you everything you need, pet. I was only giving you some piece of free advice, on the house.'

Hermione took a step forward, using her height to tower over the other woman. 'Get this very straight: I'm not your dear, your slave, your pet or your anything.'

Completely unabashed, Mistress Aphrodite looked up, smiling brightly. 'Yes, I am well aware you're not my property, dearest. But just in case your Master requires any assistance in disciplining you,' her eyes flickered over Hermione's body appreciatively, 'do tell him I'm more than willing to show you your rightful place.'

Hermione's wand was at the witch's throat in a flash. 'Let me make myself absolutely clear,' she hissed. 'I don't appreciate the insinuations, and my rightful place is so far above your head you wouldn't be able to reach it with the tallest ladder in the world.'

'Bravo!' The woman chortled, clapping her hands together. She stepped away from Hermione as if there weren't a wand pointed at her and flashed her own to the counter. A black leather bag appeared on top of it. She then stared contemplatively at Hermione who was now awkwardly holding onto her wand, not sure what to do with it at this moment.

'I love your spunk, dear, and the way you hold yourself …' She scratched her chin thoughtfully. 'Well, if you ever decide to become a Domme instead, I'd be more than happy to show you the ropes,' she said lightly. 'Now, let's start on your list: full range set of floggers from warm-up, moderate to harsh.'

She tapped her wand on the list and it got scratched through. Immediately, boxed items flew from everywhere in the piles on the left wall and landed inside the bag on the counter. The gaps they left behind were filled again seconds later. Calmly, Hermione pocketed her wand, glad the Mistress had finally decided to serve her.

'Several whips,' Mistress Aphrodite muttered. 'Full range set of deluxe paddles. The deluxe ones come with our complimentary set of crops for free,' the woman said, scratching more and more of the list while brown boxes kept landing in the bag.

'Thanks.'

'My pleasure. If you want, I could demonstrate them on you?'

'No thanks,' Hermione immediately added, annoyed.

'Deluxe Set of Magical Toys … er … we have two of those nowadays. Could you contact your Master on whether he'd like the set with or without the potions?'

'Just put them both in there,' Hermione said, going through a nearby stand with leather corsets. To her surprise, there were actually maternity corsets available that would emphasise the pregnant belly even more and add support to both the back and the baby. Subconsciously, her free hand was resting on her belly while she looked at it.

'We have a whole line of clothes for the pregnant Domme or sub,' Mistress Aphrodite suddenly said. 'If you're interested, I could show you more. It's not all in the front of the shop. We lack the room you see.'

'No, that's not necessary. I was just curious,' Hermione said hastily, hanging the corset back.

'Maybe something for the future, then,' Mistress Aphrodite said, smiling as the last box that flew through the air landed in the bag. 'Now, we've reached the items that require measuring. If you'd be so kind to stand still,' she ordered, waving her wand in an arch above her head.

A light-blue circle appeared above Hermione's head and quickly descended until it reached her feet. Hermione noted that at several points a number seemed to be registered into the now opened ledger on the counter.

'Gags in all shapes and sizes, I can see why he wants those,' the lady muttered. 'Blindfolds, binders and cuffs, check.' She was now going through the list in record speed. 'Our specialised clothes: potion-infused, cursed, jinxed, hexed and variable, done. Added, added and added,' she said, tapping at the things on the list until she reached the last one: 'B.T.V. 734895.'

Mistress Aphrodite froze, staring at the list with her mouth slightly ajar.

'Impossible. Can't be,' she whispered, her eyes flashing to Hermione nervously.

'Seven, three, four, eight, nine, five,' she repeated cautiously, tapping with her wand on the signature underneath it. It burned away. Then, the numbers left the page and glowed brightly into the air before disappearing in a puff of smoke. A bird made of parchment fluttered down, landing on top of the opened ledger and unfolding itself before sealing into it as if it had always been a part of the book. All this caused Mistress Aphrodite to turn as white as a sheet.

'What?' Hermione asked, confused.

'No-nothing, m-my Lady,' Mistress Aprhodite stuttered, dropping to her knees as she held out the leather bag to Hermione with her head bend and her eyes fixed on the floor. 'Your belongings, my Lady. I hope you'll forgive my previous, ignorant words? I didn't mean to offend my Mistress.'

Bemused, Hermione took the bag from her and reached for her purse. She had no idea what the hell that BTV was, but considering the demeanour change, she had an inkling Mistress Aphrodite had identified her 'Master'. Perhaps an Obliviate was in order? Then again, Riddle would've said so if it were necessary. He would've known  _that_ would get this reaction. Considering the risk to the other witch if her casting went wrong, she decided against it. For now.

'How much is that?' Hermione asked, ignoring the question since she'd felt offended and the snivelling apologies annoyed her more than the actual offense. However, she was worried what would happen if she voiced that out loud, so she'd decided on pretending not to have heard it. She really wasn't in the mood to listen to that bitch sucking up to her even further.

'It's already paid for, my Lady.'

Hermione frowned. Oh no, she was not stealing things. She clicked open her purse. 'I didn't pay you,' she said sternly, 'and I am not taking things from here without doing so.'

'My Lady, it's already billed to vault 734895 as requested. I tapped on the signature. The contents has been taken from his vault now and deposited in ours. You can see the evidence in my register. Please don't make me take your money, too, he'll …' Mistress Aphrodite trailed off anxiously.

Oh, so B.T.V. meant 'bill to vault'. Well, one mystery solved. What was that number again? Seven, three, four, eight, nine, five. Yes, seven, three, four, eight, nine, five. Hermione recited the numbers several times in her mind, until she was sure she'd recall them. This was definitely worth looking into. She clicked her purse closed, noticing that Mistress Aphrodite let out a relieved sigh.

'Since it's paid for and I have everything on my list, I take it our business is done?' Hermione checked just to be certain, while she put her purse and the leather bag into her coat's pocket.

'Yes, yes, everything is there. Thank you for honouring my shop with your presence, my Lady,' Mistress Aphrodite said demurely, 'and I wish you a very good day.'

'Yeah, honouring, riiight,' Hermione said sarcastically, rolling her eyes and shaking her head at the ridiculous subservience the other woman was now displaying. It gave her the creeps and she left the shop in a hurry, wishing the still kneeling woman a good day, too.

As she walked in Knockturn Alley, she suddenly heard yelling behind her. It was the voice of the shop owner. 'My Lady! My Lady! Please wait!'

Sighing, Hermione turned around. Mistress Aphrodite fell to her knees in front of Hermione, holding up a thin, see-through rod in her hands. Worried someone was seeing this, Hermione's eyes flickered around. Fortunately, the rain was pouring down heavily, preventing the normal lurkers to hang around at their usual spots in the notorious alley.

'I forgot about our special offer this week, my Lady. Our latest leather handled nylon cane is supplied to all customers who spend more than five hundred Galleons and—'

'Thank you,' Hermione interrupted abruptly, taking the cane and putting it inside her coat's pocket in a hurry. 'Now if you don't want me to curse you into oblivion, I suggest you get up and behave like a normal person before someone sees you,' she hissed, swirling around and pacing away.

xxx

As she arrived at the Ministry of Magic, she immediately walked into the lift. 'Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Auror Division,' she said mechanically. She had to get a divorce, asap.

The grills closed, and the lift swung away as abruptly as always. Hermione clutched to the bar, leaning with her head against the wall. Merlin, why was this happening? She couldn't believe it. How was it possible? Well, she knew how. But really … Damn it. How was she going to tell Ron? This wasn't how things were supposed to work out. She'd been planning to talk to Ron in the privacy of their home. She'd been planning to tell him that she wanted some time apart, slowly easing them into a divorce so they could've remained friends somehow. But now, he'd think she was pregnant with his child. Hermione banged her head against the wall. He wouldn't understand. He'd be furious, rightfully so. It would hurt him so much.

The lift stopped at the Auror Division.

She couldn't do this to Ron. Not like this. Not here, not now. There had to be another, better way.

'Scratch that,' Hermione said before it opened, 'Department of Mysteries.'

Immediately, she got jolted backwards. She just needed some things from her office and then she had someone else to see and yell at. Determined, Hermione eventually stepped into the Ministry car waiting for her at the back entrance.

'Azkaban, Alphonse,' she said, her face blank.

As the car rushed away, a tall redhead emerged from the shadows and Disapparated.

xxx

The door to his cell swung open and banged against the opposite wall. With a jolt, Riddle jumped up.

'You,' Hermione hissed, glaring at him furiously.

'What?' he asked, looking at her confused.

'You idiot!'

She ruffled in her coat's pocket frantically. Finally pulling out a flashlight, she stared at it briefly in annoyance before throwing it violently against his chest. He caught it before it fell and stared at it bemused as if he couldn't believe that thing had just been tossed against his almighty being.

'You imbecile!' she yelled, continuing to rummage through her pocket even more hurriedly.

Tom decided it was probably not a good idea to let her find whatever it was she was looking for. He tossed the flashlight on his bed and rushed around the table.

'You got me pregnant!'

That froze him on the spot, a few steps away from her. His face turned paler than he'd ever been, and he just stared at her, not believing his ears.

Hermione had finally found what she was looking for, and she yanked out the thin, nylon cane with a flourish, swiping it around immediately. There was slight whistle as it broke the air and a whipping snap sound as it connected with his shoulder, hard. A pain-filled grunt left Riddle's mouth, and he stumbled forwards. Now she had time to make a full swing and the thin cane whistled through the air before smashing into his back. This time he actually screamed, and she really enjoyed the sound of that. Hermione put her full weight behind her next swing, and it struck the back of his thigh, causing him to crash to the floor. All the while, she'd been christening him with various unflattering adjectives in her fury.

'You unbelievable, immature, ignorant, moronic,' she added, aiming for his head this time and hitting his arm instead. He'd raised it to block the impact, and his face was screwed together in pain. 'You'd think that after all those unnatural acts, after all those things you did against nature, the least it could've done back was prevent you from reproducing more idiotic, irresponsible, stupid,' she swung the cane around again, continuing to voice her opinion loudly.

However, this time, he rolled out of the way, towards her, causing her to swing over him and lose her balance. He grabbed her legs and pulled. With a frightened yell, Hermione landed on her behind, dropping the cane as she tried to cushion her fall with her hands. As Tom crawled on top of her, Hermione's hand desperately patted after the cane, but it rolled out of her reach and disappeared under the bed. She let out a furious, frustrated scream.

'Get off me, Riddle.'

She tried to launch him across the room by abruptly raising her hips, but he merely landed on his side next to her. She quickly sat up, only to be yanked back by her hair, landing against his chest. His free arm wrapped around her waist quickly.

'Quiet down,' he said coldly, tightening his grip warningly.

A pained gasp erupted from his throat when her elbow connected with his stomach. He doubled over, letting go of her waist but his other hand was still entangled with her curls. Hermione rolled around, cringing from the pressure she put on her hair due to that. As she was now facing him, she hauled up her knee, planning to strike him in an area she probably should have made dysfunctional earlier. Instead of hitting her alleged target, however, she clashed against his outer thigh. He used her momentum to swing them over and Hermione yelped when her leg was pushed outward in an uncomfortable stretch. He had both his knees on her thigh and hipbone, pressing them down with his full weight, and she whimpered in pain, not daring to move in case she ruptured a muscle or tendon. His one hand was still in her hair, holding her upper body in unnatural curve, while the other hand held on to her pinkie behind her back, pressing outward until it was nearly out of alignment.

'Stop,' she whispered panicking, worried he'd actually do it.

'Are you going to behave now?' he coldly asked.

'Yes,' she responded immediately. 'Yes, please, you're hurting me.'

Those words seemed to please him because his eyes lit up. He slid his knees off her, causing her to gasp as he rolled deliberately over her bones before he landed between her legs. Her eyes watered and she took a couple of deep breaths, staying as still as she could underneath his gaze. Apparently satisfied with her still motionless stance, he let go of her hair and leaned forward, placing his now free hand beside her body as he slowly forced her backwards onto the ground, landing on their arms. Hermione winced in discomfort as not only hers but his weight, too, was pressing down on her arm. It was digging painfully into her back.

Still, she wasn't moving. Only a fraction more, and he'd break her little finger. There was no doubt in her mind he'd do it. She could see it in his eyes. She could also see he wouldn't stop there. There was something lurking out, something incredibly dangerous looking at her, ready to strike. She didn't want to trigger that. Her chin trembled, and she did what she could to hold in her tears. She had a feeling he'd hurt her severely if she started crying. She just knew. It was safe to say she'd never been more afraid in her entire life than right now. And she'd had some seriously fearful moments before.

However, this was topping it. If something happened right now, if she did something wrong in his eyes, he wouldn't just hurt her. He wouldn't stop hurting her. He'd pick her apart as slow as he could in the most painful ways he could imagine. This was one of those moments she wished he wasn't so damn creative. This was one of those moments she wished she would die quickly, knowing that wish wouldn't be granted—not with that uncaring, cold expression on his face and that weird, blank, detached glint in his eyes. It was a different glint from every other time he'd looked at her. It was almost like he wasn't there. The fear it elicited inside of her turned her cold to the very marrow of her bones. She didn't know what to do, what to say to make that utter detachment disappear, so she remained quiet, utterly still, hoping for the best as she kept eye contact with the cold killer lying on top of her.

Finally, he blinked. His eyes flickered over her face. And she knew it was over—the glint was gone. He'd snapped out of it. Yet, she didn't show her relief for fear it would trigger its return.

'Well, what am I going to do with you, Hermione?' Riddle asked with a teasing lilt. 'Now that I got you so conveniently pinned down underneath me?'

He tilted his head, waiting for her reply, but all she could do was swallow away the lump that had formed in her throat. Her body was beginning to tremble in reaction to the overload of emotions she'd not been able to show previously, and she bit her lip, not wanting to cry. Riddle's eyes widened, and he abruptly let go of her pinkie while rolling them quickly around so she lay on top of his chest now. His arms wrapped around her comfortingly.

'Hush,' he whispered, 'it's all right, hush now. You're okay. I'm not going to hurt you. You're safe.'

Hermione closed her eyes, her fingers clutching to his shirt as she buried her head in his chest. Thank God that was over.

'Well, this is cosy,' Ron's voice called out coldly.

She froze. No, not now, not here. Voldemort would kill him.

She wanted to move up, but Riddle's arm tightened around her waist, and his other hand suddenly was in her hair, stroking over the top of her head, warning her to keep her place, to not interfere. Despite that she couldn't see his face, she didn't have to look up to know what his expression would be like right about now. She could feel it in the way he was lying there on his back in a show of utter relaxation and contentment all of a sudden.

'Do you mind? I'm entertaining my guest,' Tom replied smugly.

Hermione closed her eyes, not having to guess Ron's reaction, and she was immediately proven right. He turned on his heels, snapping, 'You can keep that filthy whore.'

The door slammed shut with a deafening bang, causing her to jerk.

'Whatever did you see in that man?' Tom asked incredulously.

xxx

* * *


	12. Outed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My thanks go to my betas: Serpent In Red and Cosettex.

**The Prisoner**

_Previously: 'Whatever did you see in that man?' Tom asked incredulously._

**Chapter 12: Outed**

'Apart from excelling in running away,' he mockingly continued with a smirk on his face, tilting his head as if in deep thought, 'like certain … ferrets, I really don't get the attraction of—' He stopped talking when she struggled in his hold.

'Let me go,' Hermione said urgently, feeling his arms tightening around her.

'You can't possibly want to go after him,' Tom hissed angrily. 'Not after what he just called you.'

It stung being reminded of Ron's words, but the anger in Riddle's voice was more worrisome. Recalling he'd been balancing on the edge of some kind of dangerous episode before, Hermione stopped struggling and met his eyes calmly.

'I need to stop him before he starts broadcasting our relationship to the world,' she said carefully. 'Please, let me prevent that. It's in your interest, too.'

'I don't see how you can possibly prevent that. He's going to love getting everyone's sympathy and being the victim in—'

'Please, let me go,' Hermione interrupted. 'I don't have time to explain it right now. It'll be minutes before he reaches the staircase.'

'Take off your coat,' he ordered sharply.

'What?' she asked, bemused.

'Take off your coat.'

'Fine,' she muttered, shaking her head at the ridiculous order. He let go of her when she began shrugging off her coat. 'I plan to come back anyway. You don't need a hostage coat,' she mocked, sitting up and handing him the requested item.

His eyes flashed over her outfit in displeasure. He clearly had issues with her going after Ron in anything that wasn't a wide sack that covered her from head to toe.

'You were the one who wanted the coat,' she snapped, rolling her eyes as she scrambled to her feet and started running. Those were his clothing demands in the first place, and it wasn't like Ron hadn't seen everything there was to see already.

'I don't know how you're going to convince him, but that better not involve letting him touch you!'

Not dignifying that with an answer, Hermione furiously slammed the door to.

_Men! Really._

Her simple skirt and blouse weren't that big a deal in her opinion. Sure, she wore nothing underneath and the tight skirt ended mid-thigh, but it wasn't like they were see-through. When she exited the circular corridor, she noticed to her horror that Ron had almost reached the door to the staircase.

'Ron!' she shouted, running faster now that the magic-suppressing wards were no longer inhibiting the spells she'd cast on her high heels to make walking on them easier. 'Ron, wait!'

His shoulders tensed, and he quickened his pace. Realising she'd never be fast enough to catch up with him, she stopped and focused every last ounce of her magic on that door.

 _Colloportus_ , she thought adamantly, knowing it would be enough since Ron wouldn't have a wand on him here.  _Colloportus._

Feeling her magic swirl around her before unleashing itself in the direction of the door, she stared anxiously as Ron placed his hand on the doorknob and tried to turn it. He grabbed it with both hands and wrestled the immobile knob futilely. Hermione let out a relieved sigh and walked towards him. It had worked. That door wouldn't open, not until she cast the counter spell.

'What's wrong with this blasted door?' Ron shouted, yanking harder at it before kicking it in frustration.

'Didn't you hear that squelching noise that indicates the use of Colloportus?' she asked in her usual bossy voice. 'I charmed the door shut.'

'Then, bloody well uncharm it!' he exclaimed, turning around abruptly. His angry, blue eyes glanced over her body. Hurt briefly flashed over his face, and he blinked while clenching his fists and swallowing. His expression turned hard.

'No,' she said.

'Open this bloody door, Hermione.'

'No,' she repeated, steady. 'We need to talk.'

'No, we don't,' he snapped, shaking his head. 'I have absolutely nothing to say to you.'

'Well, what else is new,' she said, irritated. 'Just walk away, like you always do.'

'Like I always do—like  **I** always do?' he hissed. 'I'm not the one fucking another, Hermione.'

Surprised, she looked at him. Wasn't he jumping the gun a bit too fast? How the hell would he know that? Sure, she'd been lying on top of Riddle, but that didn't indicate she'd been fucking him.

'Yes, I know about that,' Ron continued viciously. 'I'm sterile, Hermione. I cannot have any children. So, we—'

Panic rushed through her. He knew he was sterile. However, upon thinking that, she realised: He knew he was sterile! Anger pushed the panic away.

'You knew you were sterile and still let me take those god-awful, unhealthy fertility potions!' she shouted angrily.

'I got you fake ones instead!' he yelled back.

'Fake ones … Fake ones …' She took a deep breath before exploding. 'As in those illegal things one buys at Knockturn Alley, which recent investigation has shown contain toxic chemicals!' she roared, clenching her fists. 'Oh yes, that's so much better. Thank you so very much for taking my health under consideration. You arse!'

'Don't you make this my fault! I'm not the one lying on top of Lord Voldemort!'

'Yeah,' she snarled. 'I was lying on top of Lord Voldemort. Oh dear, there can only be one explanation for that: I must be screwing him. It never once,  _not once_ , occurred to you that I might be in need of some help there. That I could be in danger. No, you do what you always do. You see something, you interpret and judge, and then, everyone around you has to suffer for it. It's always the same, whether it's Harry or me, you just never learn.'

'Oh yeah, come on then, bring up every little thing I ever did wrong, like you're Miss Perfect yourself.'

'At least I am not spending my entire afternoon sitting on my arse watching reruns of Pop Idol. Newsflash: Will Young won. It's not going the be any more interesting or change when you watch it the second time around.'

'So just because it's a book you bury yourself in, you think you're so much better than me. You become completely inapproachable; you don't even hear a word I say. Ever.'

'Because everything that comes out of your mouth are such pearls I must take notice,' she sneered. 'Oh, did you hear the horrible news? The Chudley Cannon's new Keeper has a wart on his arse. How will he cope? Let's discuss what everyone on staff—including the groundskeeper—feels about this massive catastrophe.'

'It wasn't a wart. He had a furuncle!'

'Oh my mistake, it was a furuncle. My, my, what a disaster. The world will surely come to an end.'

'You never show any interest in anything that I like.'

'I went to plenty of Quidditch games with you.  _ **You**_ were the one acting like a complete buffoon towards the other team's players and supporters. I've never been so embarrassed in my life.'

'Yeah, well, that's always it, isn't it? You're always embarrassed about what I do. It's never good enough for Hermione Granger, Head Girl Extraordinaire and straight "O" student.'

'Why do you always need to put me down? There is nothing wrong with me getting the best grades or having been Head Girl. Maybe if you'd actually finished your education, you'd be able to understand that.'

'Yes, why don't you go and discuss it with Mr Perfect, Finished-Education, Head Boy down the corridor? He surely made something of his life.'

'Well, at least he wouldn't have let his fellow prefect pick up all the slack. Professor Dumbledore really shouldn't have passed Harry up just because he thought he had enough on his plate already. I had to do  _ **everything**_ that year. You were positively useless—' Ron's ears turned red in fury but Hermione was nowhere near done yet. '—as you've always been. Accusing Harry of putting his name in the Goblet of Fire, snogging Lavender just because Ginny made a comment you couldn't take, running off to your brother's when we needed you most. And you dared to call Draco Malfoy a coward. Take a good look in the mirror, Blondie. You're obviously related.'

'Like you never snogged Krum.'

'At least  _he saw_ I was a girl!'

'Well, maybe if you weren't always trying to look like a hag, others would've seen it sooner, too.'

The slap against his cheek resonated through the corridor.

'Open the fucking door, Hermione,' Ron snarled between clenched teeth.

'Why don't you open it yourself, Mr Brilliant? You're  _soooo_ good. You didn't need a completed education to become an Auror. Surely, that means that you don't need any help from a hag, a rotten Head Girl or straight "O" student to get past a measly closed door.'

'You can be such a fucking bitch.'

'Bitch? Well, that's a new one.' She laughed humourlessly. 'So now I am a bitch; you've not seen my bitch side yet, Ronald Bilius Weasley.' She took a threatening step closer to him. 'And you really don't want to be on the receiving end of it. Trust me.'

'You're pregnant with someone else's child. I think I got the full dose of your bitchnesses.'

 _Bitchnesses,_ Hermione mouthed mockingly.

'I want a divorce,' he added, shaking in anger.

'Consider it done,' she snapped.

'And I want you and your things out of my house before I get home tonight.'

Hermione smirked. 'No.'

'What?'

'It's my flat. The lease is in my name. So, why don't you move in with your mummy or Bill? I'm not leaving. You can get all your orange shit and move yourself out before  **I** get home tonight.'

Ron's eyes were tiny stripes, and again, he clenched and unclenched his fists. 'As long as you make sure I don't have to look at your ugly face when I do so. I've seen enough of it today, going into that hideous shop. No need to deny you went in there for him either. It's common knowledge Bellatrix used to shop there for him, too. And you're really are becoming just like her, having people kneel for you on the street.'

Hermione swung her arm around, but Ron caught it this time before her hand made contact with his face. The reaction was instantaneous. When his fingers curled around her forearm, Hermione felt something spark violently inside of her, and Ron jumped back, doubling over and clinging to his wrist as he screamed out in pain. She kind of enjoyed it. A lot.

'What the fuck was that?' he yelped, looking up at her, panting.

Hermione ignored his question and focused on his previous comments. 'You were following me?' she hissed quietly.

'Of course I was! You were cheating on me!' he shouted, straightening out carefully whilst flexing his fingers with a pained expression. 'When that guard upstairs told me you've been visiting him here for months—'

'They're not allowed to give out that information. Who told you?'

'I'm an Auror, Hermione; when I flash my credentials, they have to.'

'Who told you?' she repeated.

Ron pressed his lips firmly together, his face contorted in a sneer.

'Ah,' Hermione said, waving dismissively with her hand. 'I'll leave that up to Katie then. Whoever it was will be out of a job by nightfall. She already loves the staff here so much after the Rumsfield incident.'

'I don't think it's the staff here that should be worried about their jobs,' Ron said, staring at her pointedly.

'You're absolutely right,' Hermione replied, unabashed. 'Since, as an Auror, you're supposed to know it's a criminal offence to track a known Unspeakable. I could have you tossed in jail for this.'

'Well, maybe you'll like me better then,' he sneered.

'Don't count on it,' she replied coldly. 'I sincerely doubt you'll be any more interesting in prison than outside of it.'

'You, you, you—'

'I what? Used up all your creative swear words already?' she sneered. 'Maybe you'd have a bigger vocabulary if you picked up a book once in a while? But let's not ask for the impossible, shall we? Just looking at that stupid transfiguration that's on your finger says it all,' she deliberately taunted.

Ron yanked off the fake ring and tossed it at her head. 'There,' he snapped, his face scrunching up in irritation when the ring dissolved into thin air before hitting her. 'It's not like I want anything to do with Voldemort's fuck buddy anyway.'

'Good. No, perfect. I want you out of my life and my business anyway. Just a bit of advice, for old time's sake, since I know how you're prone to make stupid decisions on impulse,' she mocked, 'I don't recommend you broadcasting around what you've learned here today. If you do, McGregor will have a team of Hitwizards on your arse so fast, you won't even be able to have a tantrum about the Cannons losing again tonight.'

Ron smiled viciously. 'I can't wait till Harry hears of your betrayal.'

Hermione stilled. After a moment of silence, she shook her head sadly. 'This is so typically you. You're hurt, so you have to spread it around.'

'Harry has a right to know you're fucking Lord Voldemort.'

'It's not your business to tell Harry anything.'

'Hell it is. I'm his best frie—' Hermione snorted through his speech causing him to grit his teeth before continuing, 'I'm not letting you hurt him.'

'You have no idea what I'm doing here or why I am even here,' she said quietly. 'All you care about is your own hurt feelings.'

His eyes flickered over her appearance demonstratively. 'It's pretty obvious what you're doing here with that outfit.'

'Oh, yes, the "whorish" skirt and blouse that I've worn a thousand times before.' She snorted. 'Why don't you just fuck off, Ronald Weasley.'

She turned on her heels and paced back.

'Yeah, go back to screwing him!'

'He's got my coat, moron!'

'You'll never measure up! You're not a pure-blood like his previous squeeze! Though, he seems to prefer shagging married witches so maybe, once you're divorced, he'll drop you like yesterday's paper … into the garbage … where you belong! Smartest witch, my arse! Skeeter had it right. You're nothing but a stupid slut who thinks she knows everything when all you do is quote books! You'll—'

Ron's mouth closed abruptly upon watching a burst of violent, red magic crackle through the air towards him when a furious Hermione swatted her hand in his direction without looking. He yelped and dove to the ground.

_Don't cast when you're emotional._

Too late the words echoed through her brain as she spun around.

 _The wards! We're going to die!_ she thought, panicking upon watching how her cast magic soared over Ron's head and smashed into the door.

Quickly, she placed her feet slightly apart, ready to block any and all devastating action that would come next. The doorframe brightened sharply, blinding them both, when there was a loud crack, and then, something heavy flew through the air and smacked down on top of Ron, knocking him out fully.

'RON!' Hermione yelled fearfully, her hand flying to her mouth in shock.

Yet, she didn't move since she was waiting for the wards to come tumbling down upon them as the floor underneath her feet trembled. If the wards were to activate, she would've limited time to halt their deadly progress and get them to safety. Her mind didn't dwell on the only safe haven she'd have to drag Ron into, nor did she dwell on whether or not he was even alive at the moment. Hermione was in full combat mode, acting on instinct and dealing with the right priorities first: survival.

There was a low buzz echoing through the corridor. Though she couldn't see it, she sensed something magical passing by. Yet, nothing else happened. It became silent and calm all around her. It had probably been an Identifying Ward, put in to function as a safeguard, Hermione realised.

When the initial shock wore off and she was sure they were no longer in any danger, she ran back towards Ron. She'd only wanted to undo her 'Colloportus', not use the door as a battering ram on her ex-husband. However, she'd lost control of her magic when his words struck a raw nerve inside of her. Quickly, she levitated the door off him. With a tiny flick of her wrist, it smashed back into its frame intact. She squatted down and checked his vitals. Fortunately, he was only unconscious. She could tell he would remain that way for quite some time, but he was still breathing. Relieved, she leaned back on her heels and rose. He might have a couple of bruises, but nothing substantial was damaged.

 _Thick skull, indeed_ , her mind snarked viciously.  _Not that there is much to scramble up there._

Not bothering to revive Ron, Hermione turned on her heels and stalked away. After all, he found himself so marvellous that he shouldn't need any help from stupid sluts to get up.

A little voice tried to tell her to do something, to wake him, because this was all her fault and he might need some magical assistance to rise, but she was too proud to do so and paced on a bit faster. Stuffing her guilty feelings away, she came to a halt in front of the door.

xxx

As she placed her hand on the wooden doorknob, anxiety overwhelmed her. It had been a long time ago that she'd had hesitations about going to Riddle. Then again, not even when she'd first found herself in his cell had he threatened her in this manner. Sure, there'd been moments before, moments when that cold killer slipped through his act. And it had instilled fear in her, sent her adrenaline spiking through the roof and made her act cautious and controlled in hopes of abating the danger. When that had worked, when he'd receded and she'd remained unharmed, she'd felt so victorious. Blood would be pounding through her body, instilling a rush of pleasure inside that only served to heighten her arousal and build up her attraction to him. It felt like playing with fire when you were a child, only a thousand times better.

Today, she'd balanced on the edge of life and an utterly slow and gruesome death. There was nothing arousing about that at all. Sure, she knew what he was capable of the entire time—it was part of the reason she was even here:  _because_  she knew. She wasn't here for silly notions of love. She wasn't  _in love_  with Lord Voldemort. Hermione scoffed at the suggestion. There was lust, a lot of lust, yes. His dominating nature had sparked a side of her she'd never realised existed, and he fulfilled the needs of that side—as he did with all things—to perfection. She'd found that there was more to the man than she'd originally given him credit for, and she loved their discussions. She loved how he challenged her intellectually, how brilliant he could be—even though the competitive side of her wanted to stab him repeatedly for always having the last word—and she loved how they had so much in common despite of their differences, but she didn't love  _him_ , her new husband.

Her head turned, and with an aching heart, she briefly stared at the motionless body of her ex. She'd loved Ron and look how ugly that had turned out. Feeling her eyes beginning to water, she looked away up to the ceiling and took a deep breath, pushing those emotions away. It was no use anyway. Love was a hindrance, a bother, that caused your mind to malfunction and disabled all logical reasoning. This time she'd gone for the practical approach instead of love. As long as Riddle was safely tucked away in his cell, this marriage could work out perfectly for her. Should he escape, this marriage would protect those she cared about the most, and her new husband wasn't anywhere near the top of that list. No, she didn't love Tom, not at all, and she was pretty sure he returned that favour. She knew he wasn't in love with her, but that didn't stop her from enjoying his company when he wasn't trying to kill her.

 _He won't do that now. He'll be in control of himself again. He already was when you left,_ her mind said reassuringly as she clutched to the doorknob yet didn't turn it.

 _Sure, keep playing with fire until you get burned to a crisp,_ another part of her brain snarled back.

 _No, I'm going to beat him. Again,_ she decided firmly, ignoring the many objections flashing through her mind as she stubbornly turned the knob.

Her mind still determined, she went back into his cell in a flurry, only to freeze on the spot and having to make more of an effort than she cared to admit to not have her jaw drop. The door slipped out of her fingers as she stared at Tom Marvolo Riddle, shirtless. Arching an eyebrow, she decided that whatever game he was playing now wasn't going to work on her. So, she folded her arms over each other and simply enjoyed the view as he was busy dabbing a moist towel against his forearm.

Sure, she'd seen him completely nude, but then she'd been rather … 'preoccupied'. Now, she had a good chance to marvel at that tall body of his with that flawless skin. She just loved his lean and sinewy build. She already had felt his strength when he'd held her in his arms, knew his skinny appearance when dressed was rather deceptive and made it easy to underestimate what he was physically capable of. Now, she could tell that his muscles were toned but not overly so, more a sign of a strong, healthy person as opposed to someone who lifted weights vigorously. Her eyes slowly went over his arms, his chest, his abdomen … where his pale skin clashed heavily with the black trousers he had on. Following those long legs, she noted his pale feet sticking out. For some reason, that made her blush and she looked back up, noticing he was now pressing the towel quite firmly against his arm. It was the arm farthest away from her, and she had no idea why he was doing that. She was about to ask when he spoke first.

'Is he dead?' Riddle asked conversationally.

'Pardon?' Hermione said, blinking confused.

He turned to face her fully, giving her an even better view of his nude, smooth upper body, which was much appreciated but not helpful in getting a comprehensive answer. Instead, she just stared, unabashed.

'I felt the floor move,' he said with a self-satisfied smirk on his face, his hand holding the towel in place. 'So naturally, given your previous magical record,' he added seriously, his face turning thoughtful, 'I was extremely "concerned" for your ex's health.'

He even managed to pull a convincing, worried expression with that bull. His impeccable acting skills erupted an exasperated scowl on her face.

'Ron's just fine.'

'Pity.'

After a brief pause, his face brightened. 'Then again, that means there is more left for me.'

'What are you doing?' Hermione asked, nodding to his arm in an effort to divert the subject away from Ron. She really just wanted to forget he ever existed. That had to have been the most terrible row she'd ever had.

'What, no reprimand, no you shall not touch—' He suddenly stopped talking in that upbeat tone of voice and took several steps in her direction until he halted right in front of her. 'Don't let that twit get to you,' he said softly.

She looked up and sent him a weak smile. 'I'm not.'

'Hmm… you could've fooled me.'

'I'm fine. It's just …' She sighed. 'We had a horrible row, and I just want to forget about it.'

'Forgetting about it won't make him and his big mouth go away.'

'Yeah, well, he's not going to be blabbering about it for long. Once Katie gets word of this, she'll have to nip it in the bud. Her arse is on the line more than mine.'

'Why didn't you just Obliviate him?'

Hermione looked down, scratching her neck nervously. The problem with the Memory Charm was that Ron  _wouldn't_ remember. In a sense, it was a relief he'd figured it out—no more sneaking around, no more having to deal with him on a daily basis and lie, no more having to feel guilty about that and no more pretend smiles and happiness to act out. She no longer had to worry on how to approach the issue of divorce delicately because Ron had already asked for one. Sure, him knowing raised inevitable new issues, but those were easier to deal with.

'I see,' Riddle added slowly.

Her head snapped back up. She'd not said a thing. He couldn't possibly read her this easily, could he?

'You need to get a good Orator immediately,' he ordered formally.

'No.'

Her brusque reply caused him to arch an eyebrow, and she quickly added, 'I can't have legal representation beforehand if I want to pull this off. Katie has to make her move first.'

'McGregor? I thought you wanted to keep all this—' He gestured between them. '—a secret?'

'That was Plan A.'

'Plan A could've still been in operation if you'd just Obliviated Weasley. Since you didn't, you need an Orator to gag him and protect your interests before your boss and everyone else finds out.'

'Plan A sucked,' Hermione stated surely. 'I'm officially designating it Plan S for all the suckiness, silliness, stupidness and stupendousness it contained. Plan B is hereby promoted to A. I should've gone that way right from the start, far less loose ends to tie up.'

'Right,' he replied, sounding incredibly satisfied. 'I stand corrected. You don't need a good Orator. You need an unscrupulous one.'

'Way ahead of you,' she said triumphantly. 'I've got it covered.' Gesturing with her hand alongside his nude torso, she added daringly, 'So, what's with the strip show?'

'You disapprove?'

She shrugged and made a face. 'Well, I'm having some issues with the trousers and the towel, but otherwise …'

'These are perfectly fine trousers,' he countered, snapping the waistband with his fingers in a tease.

Her eyes briefly lingered on the line between skin and fabric with the knowledge of what lay contained underneath, before looking back up and finding out that his face had turned positively smug.

'What about the wet towel then?' she teased back, folding her arms over each other. 'Aren't they included in the perfectly fine category? They might feel discriminated against.'

'They should. They're not really doing the job.'

'What job?'

'You really want to find out?'

She ignored his penetrating, calculating gaze, tossed her hands in the air and mocked, 'Oh yes, please do explain the nature of the mysterious towel to me.'

'I'm not sure you have the stomach for it, but very well,' he said lightly and lifted the towel.

Hermione gasped, and her hands flew to her mouth in utter shock. There was an angry red stripe on Tom's forearm that had severely broken the skin. Purplish welts had swollen at the far end and the start of the wound, and there was blood leaking from the edges of those welts. That was when she noticed there was quite a substantial amount of blood visible all over the white towel.

'Oh God,' she whispered, grabbing his other arm and quickly turning him. He actually limped due to her sudden move, making her recall she'd struck his leg, too. She let go off him as if she were stung by a bee, fearing she'd hurt him even more.

'So-sorry,' she stuttered whilst her eyes focused on his legs, not quite sure which one it was again and not getting much information from the trousers, which appeared perfectly fine.

Then, she looked up to check on his back and wished she hadn't. His back was in even worse condition than his arm. Two large, gaping wounds had leaked blood all over his back. There was already bruising visible around them. It looked positively horrifying. She staggered back. Her hands flew in her hair while she shook her head in distress of having done this.

'I–I …' She stopped talking, not knowing what to say and a mere apology for this felt somehow grossly inadequate. He couldn't even use magic to heal himself.

'No need to freak out, Hermione. What's done is done,' Riddle said calmly, turning towards her and thus granting her the relief of not having to see his back anymore.

'Bu-but I did that.  **I** ,' she emphasised, pointing to his arm. Disbelief flashed over her face as her eyes wandered to the nylon cane leaning against the wall and the sink. 'With that thin, light thing? How can that be?'

He snorted. 'You're so deliciously innocent.'

'Your clothes aren't even ripped,' she added, frowning.

'I'd rather they were,' he replied seriously. 'If the energy of the blows had been more superficial, they'd shredded my clothes instead of my body. However, since you laid your full weight into your swings, the energy travelled farther before doing their dama—'

He stopped talking abruptly when her face fell and her eyes lowered to the floor during his explanation. With one step, he closed the distance between them and took a hold of her chin, lifting her face to meet his.

'I've had far worse, Hermione,' he said softly, cupping her cheek.

'You don't look it,' she whispered, not meeting his eyes and then realising what a stupid thing she'd just said. He'd got a new body. Of course there wouldn't be any marks. 'Sorry,' she said again. 'I didn't mean—I wasn't calling you a liar. I keep forgetting this isn't your old body.'

'Yeah, you and me both,' he muttered. 'Must be why you've got pregnant. I didn't realise that would be undone. It didn't happen the last time I resurrected.'

Frowning at the change in topic, Hermione looked up.

'Really, Granger, do you honestly think I ever wanted to get someone pregnant?'

'No,' she blurted out, her previous anger over this whole baby situation resurfacing. 'It's why I assumed you'd dealt with that, especially since you didn't say anything and knew I was on fertility potions, which contra-indicate any contraceptive use, so I figured if there were a risk, you would've opened your big mouth and I would've used that damn condom I had in my pocket.'

'You had a condom with you?'

The angry undertone in his voice and the way he now regarded her spoke volumes, but she couldn't care less. He wasn't the one having to carry it to term.

Placing her hands on her sides, she snapped, 'Don't look at me like that. You took me completely by surprise and didn't say anything. I thought it was safe to proceed without. From the frustrated journals of Iris Parkinson, she seemed to have tried pretty hard to get pregnant by you.'

'Don't remind me.' He groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. 'Sweet Salazar, those dumb broads at Hogwarts actually thought it would be a good idea to tie me down to them by attempting to get pregnant during our final year there.' He let out an exasperated grunt and rolled his eyes. 'Well, I didn't mind them putting out. I'd taken care of that ages ago.'

'So, you did sterilise yourself?'

'Of course.'

'Did you use the Vasectomy or Neutering Curse?'

'Vasectomy,' they said simultaneously.

'Less reported side-effects,' she added, nodding.

'And nowhere near as debilitating or visible as the Neutering Curse, which would've kept me out of commission for a fortnight,' Tom added.

'Yes, that would've been hard to explain to Slughorn.' Hermione sniggered upon imagining that. 'Slughorn!' She slapped her forehead. 'I always carry Essence of Dittany in my pocket!'

She swirled away, muttering angrily to herself for not thinking of it sooner. Her coat was hanging at its usual place, and she quickly ruffled through her magically extended pocket.

'No, ermmm... no. What's this doing in here? No, no, no. Oh, the stuff you wanted.'

Absentmindedly, she pulled out the leather bag from the Pain and Pleasure Palace, hearing Riddle's shout of 'NO!' far too late. It was like a bomb went off. The bag tore to pieces in her hands; items smashed into her and flew around her as she yelped and jumped back, tripping over something that had landed behind her. Her arms flailed around as she fell, unable to keep her footing, when his hand grabbed a hold of her and yanked her out of the way. She crashed into him as he quickly wrapped his arms around her, pressing her firmly against his chest and keeping her upright.

Still panting heavily, Hermione closed her eyes. Behind her she could still hear items falling on the floor. Yet, she felt safe and secure as he held her tightly in his arms. It was weird, she thought. One moment his hold would make her utterly terrified, and the next time, it felt like nothing or no one could ever hurt her again. Despite wanting to analyse the source of this, her mind lost the battle against the sensation of being in his arms, of feeling safe and protected, and her body relaxed against his. Her hair was caught between his chest and her cheek, tickling her face with every breath she took, but what invaded her senses most was his scent—that deliciously masculine fragrance that hung lightly around him and almost functioned like an aphrodisiac to Hermione. She seriously could smell this all day long and never be bored of it. Not even the slight tang of blood put her off.

Blood!

What was she doing? He was still injured, and she was contemplating on how nice he smelled? Seriously, what had got into her?

Sheepishly, she looked up, meeting those penetrating, dark eyes. It was a big relief he couldn't do Legilimency here, but somehow, it didn't exactly grant her the privacy she'd thought she would have. He still seemed quite able to get inside her mind with conventional, Muggle methods.

Hermione sent him a weak smile. 'Thanks.'

'You're welcome.'

'I can stand on my own now.'

He smirked. 'Are you sure about that?'

A scowl erupted on her face, and she abruptly stepped back … on top of some item, twisting her ankle and nearly falling over again if he hadn't grabbed her upper arm to help steady her. She reached for her aching ankle and rubbed it.

'Damn court shoes,' she muttered, pulling it off her foot carefully and wincing when she had to put her weight on the leg she'd just injured to kick off the other one. 'Not one word,' she said to Riddle without looking at him—she didn't need to because she could draw that smug, taunting expression he'd be sporting about now by heart.

His chuckle validated her expectations so she sent him a brief glare before focusing on finding her coat or what was left of it. Her eyes flashed over the rubble in the cell. It was quite impressive. Madame Aphrodite's items were scattered around everywhere. Some were still in their respective boxes, but most boxes hadn't survived that blast intact and were either torn or completely shredded. Dumbfounded, Hermione stared at the pile of cardboard residue and kinky items. It made no sense. Why had that bag exploded?

Suddenly realising Riddle had shouted 'no' and thus indicating he had an idea as to why, she turned towards him and asked, 'How come that bag exploded? My coat never did.'

'Their bags are based on a Simple Extension Charm, which most wizards or witches are already barely able to perform. No ordinary charm can withstand the force of the magic-suppressing wards. So, I take it you used a bit more than a mere charm for your coat.'

'Yes, of course, several Notice-Me-Not Charms with some modifications, a couple of potions that secured strength and durability, and I embedded multiple Arithmancy equations into it as well in order to compartmentalise and enhance the Extension Charm, which I altered a tad to suit for my coat, but that still …' she paused when for a second she thought an impressed expression flashed across his face, but it was gone next and she shook her head, certain she'd imagined it. 'It still doesn't explain why my coat stays whole. You said yourself the more power the wards perceive, the harder they strike.'

'Which is why your solution is so ingenious,' he replied matter-of-factly, causing her to blush. 'They're not perceiving anything. Arithmancy and Potions are a different kind of magic than what the wards are designed to target. The potions insure that your coat is strong enough so the charms don't buckle under the stress of the wards, and the Arithmancy combined with the charms is enough to fool them that your coat is merely that: a normal, Muggle coat. It's quite brilliant actually. You wouldn't be the first to try to smuggle things into Azkaban, but I'm pretty sure you're one of the first to succeed in doing it on such a regular basis without anyone suspecting anything and without triggering any of the many alarms.'

By now her face was burning so hard she'd no idea where to look anymore. His compliments made her feel proud and accomplished, but at the same time, she didn't know how to react to them. She wasn't good at receiving compliments and had never learned to accept them with some grace. So, instead she got down on her hands and knees and focused on searching for her coat, ruffling through the pile of stuff from Madame Aphrodite's store. She began piling everything she'd handled up on her left.

'I'm actually still waiting for you to offer me a ride out of here in that coat,' Tom continued with a smirk.

Her scowl was immediate; with a parcel still in her hand, she turned around to glare at him, making him hold up his hands in defence and take a step back in mock fear. His eyes flickered between her face and the parcel, so she automatically looked down. Through the tears in the cracked, cardboard box, a large wooden bat was visible, erupting a devious smirk on her face. She pulled it out and patted it lightly into the palm of her hand.

'Well, I don't think you'd fit as you are,' she teased, stroking the wood meaningfully.

'Doesn't matter,' he replied lightly, 'I can wait. I'm a very patient man, you know.'

'Patient, my arse.' She snorted, placing the bat on the pile on her left.

'And such a nice arse it is,' he added suggestively when she leaned forward to pick up a black corset.

'You know you could try to help me find my coat in this mess instead of just standing there,' she said, slightly irritated.

'Yes, I could,' he concurred, 'but then I would miss out on the lovely view.'

Hermione rolled her eyes as she tossed several more items to the side. 'It will take me all day to put this back in my coat without magic,' she said, absentmindedly leaning with her butt on her heels and wincing when a sharp pain soared through her ankle. Quickly, she removed her weight of her hurt foot and sighed. 'If I find the damn thing.'

'Well, you'd better,' Riddle said. 'I can hide some items in here that will escape those moronic guards' attention, but even they should be able to spot that huge pile. It is rather conspicuous.'

'Oh! There it is!' she cheered, crawling through the pile and pulling at the tiny piece of pearl fabric that stood out between all that black leather. 'Thank Merlin, it's still intact,' she muttered, inspecting her coat from all sides before sticking her hand in its charmed pocket and looking for the Dittany.

It didn't take her long to find the little bottle of Essence of Dittany, and she scrambled back to her feet carefully.

'Why don't you go outside and heal that ankle first,' Riddle said, staring at her foot seriously.

Hermione shook her head. 'I only twisted it a bit. It's no big deal. It's a minor ache, nothing detrimental. It'll heal. Turn around so I can get to those wounds on your back.'

Riddle looked at the tiny bottle and shook his head. 'You'd best do my leg and arm first,' he ordered, unzipping his trousers. 'I'm not sure that's enough to heal everything.'

'But your arm isn't nearly as bad as—Oh Godric, no!' Horrified, she stared at the bleeding wound on the back of his thigh as he stepped out of his trousers. She rushed over and grabbed a hold of him around his waist. 'Stop putting pressure on your leg, you idiot; you need to lie down now,' she ordered, immediately dragging him to the bed.

'Granger, don't be—'

'Shush,' she hissed. 'You should've put pressure on  _that_ wound instead of just letting it bleed on. Are you insane?'

'I only have one pair of hands, and as you may recall, I was focusing on this wound first, Granger,' he said, holding up his arm.

'That is a superficial wound. The other one isn't,' she countered, ignoring the arm in front of her face. 'On your stomach. Now,' she ordered bossily when they got to the bed.

He snorted. 'Gee, Granger, anyone ever tell you that you're one—'

'Yes, many times, now move!'

Sniggering softly, Tom laid down on the bed. When he was lying on his stomach, Hermione sat down next to his leg and opened the bottle of Dittany. Tom turned his head towards her.

'Just the leg first,' he ordered, staring at her warningly.

Hermione sighed, rolling her eyes. 'Fine, let that back get infected. What do I care?' she muttered, disgruntled.

'It won't get infected in this cell,' Riddle countered. 'You're forgetting about the healing properties. I've not even had a single cough in the last couple of years.'

'Those healing properties are aimed at you not getting sick from the suppression of your magic. There is no telling if it'll work on ordinary physical wounds. And not getting a cough isn't that odd with the minimal direct human contact you're having. Germs mostly get passed on by one's hands. Now stop distracting me before I spill this.'

He placed his head back on the pillow and kept still to her surprise. Carefully, she placed one hand beside the wound and then let three drops of the brown liquid fall into it. New flesh grew rapidly, closing the wound from within until nothing but a red stripe on the newly formed skin remained. Her eyes wide, she reached out with her fingertips and stroked over that skin. It felt perfectly fine and smooth. Those couple of drops had done far more than she'd expected. She had some previous experience with Essence of Dittany, having used it on both Harry and Ron, and on neither had it had such spectacular results as it did now.

'This is impossible,' she muttered.

'What?' he asked, looking around concerned.

'Don't you feel it?' she asked, dumbfounded. 'The wound is healed. I only used three drops, and it was a deep lash. I've never seen Essence of Dittany work like this. It's almost like a miracle cure.'

'Like I said, healing properties,' he replied smugly.

'Maybe,' Hermione said, staring at his healed leg concerned before carefully dripping some Dittany into the wound on his shoulder and back. 'I've got plenty now,' she said when she saw him glare at her for disobeying his orders.

She reached out to take his arm and applied the potion there, too, before sitting down and screwing the lid back on the bottle and placing it on the table. Tom's eyebrows rose when he saw how fast his wound healed. He carefully stretched out his limbs and rolled over on his back.

'Amazing,' he muttered. 'I could get used to this.'

'How can you say that when you don't even know for sure what this is?'

'It's clearly the combination of the healing properties of the cell in addition to the Essence of Dittany,' Tom replied, placing his arms casually underneath his head.

'Clearly,' Hermione snarled sarcastically.

'What else could it be?' he replied, shrugging.

'Oh gee, I don't know. I suppose there is loads of literature on what resurrecting with phoenix ashes does to the physiology of the human body. Why care about the risks of experimenting on yourself and the possible future side-effects?'

'Otherwise I'd be dead now, which would be a significantly worse "side-effect" on my physiology, so I'm finding this a rather mute discussion,' Tom countered, annoyed.

'You know this isn't just about you anymore,' she snapped. 'I've a little girl inside of me that god knows is in what kind of state, thanks to your stupid experiments.'

Abruptly, she rose, wanting to walk away, but he grabbed her arm and pulled her back on the bed whilst sitting up and facing her seriously.

'It's a bit early to be able to determine the sex of the child,' he said softly.

'I know. The Healer warned us that the spell is only fifty-nine percent accurate at this early stage, but it was pink and I guess I already got used to that.' She tossed her hands in the air in supplication.

'You've decided to keep it,' Tom stated, scratching his neck uncomfortably.

'No, I wanted an abortion, but it's not an option,' Hermione said, glaring at him. 'You can thank your precious Moirae for that: no divorce and no abortions either.'

'Moirae,' Tom hissed, his eyes flashing. 'I trust your tracking method is working?'

'Oh yes, that bitch is mine,' Hermione replied vengefully.

Tom nodded. 'Not yet though. Wait till she no longer expects it to happen. You'll be needing backup, too. Her countermeasures are quite severe. You don't stay out of reach for so many centuries without really good defences.'

'Don't tell me you have no idea how to bypass those.'

Smirking ever so smugly, Tom answered, 'I do, but you're not ready to take her on.' His eyes flickered over her seated form as his hand disappeared into her hair, tilting her head as he added 'yet' right before kissing her thoroughly.

xxx

Hermione paced to her office at the Department of Mysteries. Ron hadn't been in that Azkaban corridor anymore when she'd left Riddle's cell, and she figured he'd gone to his parents or Harry or whoever else might be in the mood to listen to his complaints. He also would probably be busy getting his belongings from their flat. She had no desire to run into him again and have another argument. So, she'd decided to catch up on her administration since she couldn't do much else. Riddle hadn't given her any new information on magical topics and that blasted book from Dolcea on magic hadn't improved in wording, sentence structure or punctuation, despite Hermione's ability to comprehend some of it better now that Riddle had clarified what the first chapter was about. She already had a thousand questions on the second chapter alone, but she'd not got around to ask them today. Her mind had been too distracted with everything else that was going on.

So despite that it had taken quite some time before she and Tom had put everything back into her coat, they had, during that time, talked and talked about their new situation, and she'd become much more at ease about being pregnant—no longer fearing for the baby's health after his thorough explanation on his resurrection. Of course, he had to become a possessive, male pig after having one of his stupid cells do its deed as if it were some big achievement on his end, and he kept pulling her in his arms at every available opportunity, so she'd 'kindly' reminded him of their no touching arrangement, which she'd previously ignored. She groaned at recalling how he'd immediately held up her underwear triumphantly after she'd said that. It seemed some other things besides the bag had dropped out of her coat's pocket, too, and apparently, he'd been baiting her with his behaviour.

_'But you're going against my specific orders, too, Granger. Tsk, tsk, tsk. Such a naughty girl you are. It seems I shall have to correct that insolent attitude fully the next time you're here.'_

He'd not kept his hands to himself for a single second after that, making Hermione even more determined about not bringing any of Mistress Aphrodite's equipment with her to his cell tomorrow.

_No sireeee._

She'd already vanquished that blasted cane, which turned out to be potion-infused for maximum impact. She would really have to have a serious talk with Riddle about some of the other things he'd had her buy after she'd seen the damage that little plastic thing had done. After all, she was pregnant now. And even though she didn't mind him dominating her, she wasn't sure how far she was willing to go into the whole sadomasochism thing. She'd enjoyed the spanking despite the pain. It had been an eye-opening experience for her, so freeing. She also didn't mind superficial bruises and rejoiced in seeing her body heal them. It felt empowering and relaxing to surrender to his will. But those whips, canes and bats were just a step too far in her mind. They scared the shit out of her.

A Howler suddenly popped up in front of her face when she placed her hand on the door to her office. Before she had time to take cover, it burst open.

'Hermione, my office, NOW!' Katie McGregor's voice thundered.

It seemed the shit had hit the fan.

When she arrived at her boss's office, she found that Katie wasn't alone. To her surprise, Harry was there, too, sending her a reassuring smile.

_Dammit_ _,_ _Ron, couldn't you keep your mouth shut for one afternoon and give me the chance to tell Harry myself?_

Harry being there made her a hell of a lot more uncomfortable, but she kept a straight face nevertheless and smiled back at him.

'Hi, Harry. Katie, I got your … "message".'

'Have a seat, Hermione,' Katie said calmly. 'Harry, I really think you should let me handle this part.'

'I don't think so,' Harry said, taking the seat next to Hermione. 'We're going about this as we agreed upon previously.'

'Going about what?' Hermione asked, her head swivelling between the two questioningly.

'This,' Katie said, handing her a scroll after which she sat down in her chair and interlaced her fingers contemplatively whilst staring at Hermione.

Slowly, Hermione unrolled it and turned pale upon seeing it was her marriage scroll to Riddle. So, it hadn't been Ron who'd tattled. He had no idea about this. Then again, Harry was here. She doubted Katie had contacted him, so he'd probably heard some things from Ron, but why had he come here? And how had the scroll come into McGregor's hands? It was supposed to go to her office. Even if that hadn't worked, it should've ended up on the pile of the Department of Magical Family Affairs and Genealogy, not here.

'How did you get this?' Hermione asked slowly, looking up to Katie and trying to avoid meeting Harry's eyes. 'This is private.'

'All private, family information regarding Unspeakables comes past my office first in order to prevent possible blackmail situations to my operatives,' Katie said coolly.

Ah, that explained why her spell had not worked; the scroll hadn't gone to the department where it would've activated her transportation spell yet.

'That's quite an invasion of my privacy. Why aren't we made aware of this policy when we signed on?'

'With what you're holding in your hand, I'd say it's quite obvious as to why not. Care to explain how come you're married to Riddle?'

Hermione opened her mouth, but before she could speak, Harry intervened.

'Don't answer that, Hermione.' He turned back to Katie. 'We discussed this. You were supposed to keep it short and not go into questioning her yet until the formal hearing. She's not talking to you without proper legal representation.'

'Potter, we might be able to make this go away quietly,' Katie said, sighing.

Harry snorted. 'I'm willing to take that under consideration  _ **after**_ Hermione has spoken with an Orator concerning her liabilities, not before that. In the meantime, I'm sure your office can control the external damage in the manner we discussed in order to keep this under wraps.'

Katie shook her head. 'Are you absolutely positive you can't talk your friend into keeping his mouth shut?'

'Ron won't listen to me in the state he's in now. You need to handle it.'

'All right,' Katie said, resigning. 'Hermione, I'm sorry to say this, but I have to suspend you from active duty without pay, effective immediately, until a formal hearing has been held concerning the full nature of your involvement with Tom Marvolo Riddle whilst under the employment of the Department of Mysteries. You are hereby advised not to leave the country.'

'When will this hearing occur?' Hermione asked calmly. She'd been expecting this turn of events, just not so smoothly as it was occurring right now. Something she obviously had Harry to thank for.

'I'll try to schedule it as fast as possible,' Katie replied, sighing as she scratched her neck. 'You'll receive a notice of the time and place. I'll remind you that you're still bound by your Unspeakable Vows and therefore are not allowed to convey information to outsiders other than your Orator.'

'I'm aware of my vows,' Hermione replied.

'Good, then I'm afraid I'll have to escort you out the building.'

'I'll do that,' Harry said quickly.

For a moment, Katie stared at him. 'Fine, but don't wander around  _for her sake_ ,' she added warningly as they got up to leave.

'We won't,' Hermione replied. The second they were out of the office and the door had closed, Hermione turned to Harry. 'Harry, what's—?'

'Not here,' he said shortly, 'wait till we're at your flat.'

'Ron might be there,' Hermione said, biting her lip.

'No, he got up his things and left more than an hour ago,' Harry said softly, grabbing her hand. 'Don't worry, you're not in this alone. We'll work this out.'

Hermione waited until they were in the lift; then she turned to Harry and said firmly, 'I don't want you involved in this. I can't make this work if you get involved, Harry. It's bad enough Ron decided to show up in his cell. I need you to stay out of this.'

'Hermione,' Harry replied, frowning, 'how much of that Moirae marriage was your idea?'

'Harry, please, stay out of this.'

He shook his head, staring at her in disbelief. 'Merlin, Hermione, you have no idea who you're trying to screw over.'

'I do.'

'No, I don't think you really do,' Harry replied seriously, grabbing a hold of her. 'You don't manipulate Riddle; he'll be so many steps ahead of you that by the time you realise, there will be nothing left for us but pick up the pieces.'

'If you get involved, that's exactly what will happen,' Hermione said with a tone of finality to it as the lift stopped at their destination: the Atrium.

'We're not done discussing this,' Harry said as they walked to the fireplace exits, his jaw set.

'Oh yes, we are,' Hermione replied, equally stubborn.

xxx


	13. Confrontations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my lovely betas: Serpent In Red and Cosettex.

**The Prisoner**  
  
 **Chapter 13: Confrontations**  
  
The centre of attention, Ron, was sitting at the Burrow’s kitchen table loudly exclaiming his grievances. Charlie—who wasn’t due back in Romania for a couple more days—sat on his right side, while his mother sat on his left, keeping her hand on his arm the entire time and occasionally squeezing it comfortingly. Bill and Fleur had popped over after being contacted about the ‘family emergency’ and they were equally appalled as the others had been at hearing Ron’s story. Arthur Weasley’s arm on the clock changed from ‘work’ to ‘travelling’ and it would soon be in the ‘home’ position, too. At the far end of the kitchen table, slightly turned away from the others, sat Ginny Weasley—her face pale and her eyes unseeing.  
  
‘—and I wasn’t expecting  _this_ ,’ Ron snapped, causing murmurs of agreement supporting him. ‘I knew it wasn’t my child.’  
  
‘My poor boy,’ Molly interrupted, sniffing up her nose as she patted his arm.  
  
‘But when I followed her to Azkaban, I didn’t think I’d find her with  _him_.’  
  
Ginny fisted her hands.  
  
‘I thought she was there for work or because she might be seeing some guard. Imagine my surprise when I flashed my credentials and I was told she’s been coming there for months. MONTHS!’  
  
Ginny turned even paler, her freckles standing out more and more. However, her telling physique and posture went unnoticed by the others because they had their full attention on Ron telling them his side of things.    
  
‘I didn’t know what to think, what to expect, but when I went down there, I sure as hell wasn’t expecting her to roll all over the floor with Voldemort—’  
  
Ginny’s nails dug deep into her skin.  
  
‘—and she didn’t even attempt to deny it! She accused me— _ME!_ —’ He slapped his chest in outrage. ‘—of lying to her!’  
  
Bill shook his head.  
  
‘Well, I hope you told her off, bro,’ Charlie said.  
  
‘I sure did,’ Ron replied, puffing out his chest. ‘Gave her a piece of my mind. Did you know she was on top of him when I entered?’  
  
Over the noises of appropriate shock and appal, nobody heard Ginny’s quiet murmur of ‘I didn’t miss it the first million times you mentioned it.’  
  
‘And she was clutching to his shirt as if he had tossed her some lifeline.’  
  
Alarmed, Ginny’s eyes widened; her expression was haunted.  
  
‘I swear it was almost like watching Bellatrix.’  
  
‘Hermione has never been good to you,’ Fleur piped in, reaching out over the table to take Ron’s hand.  
  
He eagerly took the provided comfort. ‘I know,’ Ron replied. ‘I just thought she loved me.’  
  
‘Oh sweetheart,’ Molly cried out, yanking him to her chest and suffocating him in her thick, woollen jumper. Ron’s muffled sounds of protest and some flailing of arms occurred underneath Molly’s upset face as she continued comforting her son by patting him on the back and saying, ‘Don’t you worry. You’ll find someone new, someone much,  _much_  better than her.’  
  
When Ron had finally got out of his mother’s embrace, he eagerly continued his story, loving the attention he was receiving. ‘When I got in there, she didn’t even try to move off Voldemort; she didn’t say anything, didn’t even attempt to be embarrassed about being there. And you should’ve seen the disgusting, smug look he sent me.’  
  
Ginny shivered.  
  
‘Bah,’ Charlie said, waving with his hand as if he were casting Riddle away.  
  
‘As if he’d won some prize, well, I told him he could keep that filthy whore.’  
  
A chair collapsed to the floor, and everyone looked up in surprise to Ginny who’d got up rather abruptly despite her big belly.  
  
‘Don’t call her that,’ Ginny hissed at Ron, her eyes furious as her hands crashed on the table and her body leaned forward.  
  
‘Ginny?’ Molly asked, confused.  
  
‘Don’t you dare call Hermione a whore in my presence. You have no idea,  _no idea_  what he’s like when you’re stuck with him. Did you even do anything,  _anything_  to try to help her, when you found her in his embrace, Ron?’  
  
‘She was enjoying it,’ Ron snapped, getting up, too.  
  
‘Really? Did you ask? Did you even care or did you just run? Don’t pretend to be such a bloody victim. Everyone with eyes could see your marriage with Hermione wasn’t working out. And then this whole ridiculous “let’s get a child because that will make it all better”, it made me want to scream at the both of you. Did you ever try telling her that you were unhappy?’  
  
‘What’s that got to do with her fucking Voldemort?!’ Ron yelled.  
  
Ginny growled. ‘Because she got sent there vulnerable, idiot! Because you two never talk! Don’t you see how perfect that was for him? Don’t you see how easy it would’ve been to manipulate her if he got her alone for months?’  
  
‘Gin—’ Bill started carefully.  
  
‘Shut up,’ Ginny snarled. ‘You all need to shut the hell up! What do you know? You’re all so ignorant, so bloody ignorant! Eh, all it takes is some hot cocoa, right?’ A haunted laugh left her lips, and she slammed her fist on the table.  
  
‘What’s going on here?’ Arthur asked, standing in the doorway, staring with concern at his trembling daughter who had closed her eyes and was breathing in deeply.  
  
‘Nothing I need to be a part of, Dad,’ Ginny replied, having come to a decision.  
  
‘What’s the ma—’  
  
‘Sorry, but I can’t do this. I thought I could, told Harry I’d be fine, but no … I need to see Hermione,’ she said frantically, grabbing her coat from the chair’s back. ‘I need to know if she’s okay. I’m out of here. James, James!’  
  
Ginny paced to the sitting room with remarkable speed, leaving everyone flabbergasted in the kitchen. James’s soft protests of being in the middle of a game with Teddy went on deaf ears as his mother cast his coat on and quickly pulled him with her. As Ginny was walking down the garden path with a whining James in tow, she heard her mother’s voice calling out to her.  
  
‘Ginny, Ginny!’  
  
She just kept walking.

‘Ginevra Molly Weasley, you stop right there, young lady.’  
  
Furious, Ginny turned around. ‘I’m not a child anymore, Mother.’  
  
‘Mummy, you’re hurting me,’ James squeaked.  
  
Ginny let go of the death grip she had on her son’s hand. ‘Sorry, sweetie,’ she said gently, patting his head.  
  
‘Then, stop acting like one. Your brother is hurt. He’s your family, not that little hussy.’  
  
‘That little hussy, as you dare call her, was the only one who truly cared for me after my first year at Hogwarts,’ Ginny snapped, her eyes flashing.  
  
‘We cared for you. We were worried sick about you,’ Molly countered.  
  
‘Worried sick, worried sick …’ Ginny shook her head before making an exasperated noise. ‘You stuffed me full with sweets—your solution to everything! Mum, just because Dumbledore said all it takes is some hot cocoa doesn’t make it so. I needed help. Real help. I had Lord Voldemort inside my body! He used me to try to kill people, people I cared about, and you all thought that was okay? That it would miraculously go away with time as long as I ate enough “comfort food”? Well, it doesn’t, Mum.’  
  
‘Ginny, sweetie,’  Molly pleaded, her eyes filling with tears.  
  
‘A fourteen-year-old did what you and Dad failed to do. She provided me with a listening ear; she comforted me; she never once judged me for how I felt.’  
  
‘We wouldn’t have judge you ei—’  
  
‘I missed him when he was gone, Mum. Not at first, at first I was happy—so happy that Harry had saved me—that he was gone. But later … when I was suddenly all alone every single day, I missed him terribly. I wanted him back. I hated Harry for destroying the journal. I wished I had died down there in that chamber if it had meant that he would’ve lived on.’  
  
‘Gin—’ Molly said, her hands flying to her mouth in shock.  
  
‘Not judging, riiight, I can see that.’  
  
‘Sweetie, I—I—’ Molly said, not knowing what to say and reaching out tentatively to have her hand slapped away.  
  
‘Hermione didn’t have that look of horror on her face when I told her I wished that Basilisk had killed her—that I wished her body was stone dead instead of his. None of you ever,  _ever_  wondered how come she was so exhausted at the end of her third year. You all bought that silly story that she was overworked from attending too many classes. She only dropped  _two courses_  the next year, one of which she could probably teach! She used that damn Time-Turner to be there for me, Mum! She was there for me that entire year, and I will never, ever forget what she did for me.’  
  
Ginny felt someone tug on her robes and looked down at her pale-faced son.  
  
‘Mummy, why are you and Granny fighting and crying?’ James asked timidly, his chin trembling.  
  
Suddenly noticing that indeed her eyes were wet, Ginny quickly wiped her face and regained her composure. ‘Mummy’s fine, James,’ she explained gently, ‘but your mummy’s best friend is in trouble. It’s why Granny and I have been crying.’  
  
‘Is Auntie Hermy your best friend?’  
  
‘Yes, dear.’  
  
‘Can’t we help her?’  
  
‘We sure can,’ Ginny said, patting his head. ‘I’m positive your dad is already with her, and Mummy will go see her, too.’ She turned back to her mother. ‘I love Ron, Mum, but I won’t allow anyone,  _anyone_ , to tell me not to be her friend anymore just because I have an idiot brother. And I won’t idly stand by and listen to anyone slandering Hermione.’  
  
‘I see Potter was right when he said that we didn’t have to worry about you,’ another voice said authoratively.  
  
Ginny turned around, and her eyes narrowed at the sight of Katie McGregor accompanied by quite a large group of witches and wizards.  
  
‘You,’ she hissed, her hand itching to draw her wand. However, she was well aware she had James standing next to her, so she refrained. ‘You sent her to him.’  
  
‘And I assume you’re aware that information as well as anything else regarding my Unspeakable’s activities is not to be broadcasted around,’ Katie replied evenly.  
  
Ginny snorted. ‘Yeah, I bet you don’t want to be implicated in this.’  
  
Undeterred, McGregor continued, ‘I’ve already obtained a Vow of Silence from your husband, Mrs Potter. You should be aware that if this knowledge spreads beyond your family, the penalty will be severe.’  
  
‘Don’t you threaten my daughter,’ Molly said icily, her wand already in her hand.  
  
Ginny held up her hand to her mother, stopping Molly from blasting McGregor off her feet. ‘I’ve got this one, Mum.’

Manoeuvring James behind her, Ginny walked towards Katie, until she was practically nose-to-nose with the Head of the Unspeakables.  ‘So,’ she paused, ‘you got a Vow of Silence. Congratulations. But I should give you a heads-up: Whenever I get a chance to screw you over in the future, you can expect it to happen. _Every. Single. Time_.’  
  
‘Mrs Potter, I shall ignore that threat, considering your current physical condition, obvious emotional state and your son’s presence, and I recommend you go quietly now. Your husband asked me to inform you that he’s at Hermione’s place,’ McGregor said calmly.  
  
‘You’re lucky Hermione’s my friend, and I wouldn’t do anything to cause her harm, but if I come back here at the Burrow and find you or your people touched a hair on anyone’s head, you will never know what it was that hit you.’  
  
And on that note, Ginny Disapparated.

xxx

  
Of course Harry and Hermione weren’t done discussing things at all.  
  
‘I can’t really go into why I was visiting him for so long, Harry. You know that my job description doesn’t allow it. You heard what McGregor said. You’re not even supposed to know everything you already do.’  
  
‘But you promised me only yesterday that you weren’t going back to Riddle. You lied to me,’ Harry said heatedly as she opened the door to her flat.  
  
‘No,’ Hermione replied, shaking her head, ‘I said that he wasn’t translating the scrolls. You interpreted that as me not going back. I never lied to you.’ She wanted to fling her coat on the hanger next to the door, but it was no longer there. Her eyebrows rose in surprise, and she snorted. ‘Ron took the ugly coat hanger that Aunt Muriel gave us?’ Hermione asked, bemused. ‘He hates that thing.’  
  
Harry closed the door behind him and answered, ‘He was understandingly pissed when he was packing up his belongings. You’ll find he took everything with him that could even be remotely identified as his. I told him to deal with your joined purchases later.’  
  
‘You were here?’  
  
‘He’s my friend, too,’ Harry replied, rubbing his forehead uncomfortably.  
  
‘I know. I’m not blaming you. I’m glad Ron wasn’t here alone. He needed a friend. He was very upset; we had a horrible row.’  
  
‘You really should’ve broken up with him.’  
  
‘You know that I was planning to yesterday,’ she countered, walking on and putting her coat on the kitchen table, ‘but Mrs Weasley had to—’  
  
‘Oh please, Hermione, stop blaming others,’ Harry interrupted, annoyed. ‘I saw the date on Moirae’s scroll. You had plenty of time to tell Ron before yesterday. Things didn’t have to turn out like they did if only you’d told Ron you wanted a divorce sooner.’  
  
He halted behind her whilst she silently watched the emptied-out flat. It was strange, seeing it without Ron’s personal belongings and his favourite chair. Even though most of the larger furniture was still there, it somehow felt colder, more detached to Hermione. After a quiet moment, Harry placed his hand on her shoulder and squeezed it gently.  
  
‘Are you all right?’  
  
‘Yes,’ Hermione paused, shaking her head and thus belying her words. ‘Yes,’ she added firmer as if reassuring herself.  
  
His hand dropped from her shoulder when she turned around and faced him, leaning with her butt against the table and ignoring the state of her flat.  
  
‘Look, I don’t understand. Ron doesn’t know about my marriage to Riddle, so he couldn’t have told you about that and Katie never would’ve shared that information with you willingly either. So how come you even know about it, and why were you at Katie’s office to begin with?’  
  
‘Don’t you think you owe me an explanation first?’  
  
‘Harry, I’m an Unspeakable,’ Hermione said, tossing her hands in the air aghast. ‘I already have one problem at work, I can’t add more to the mix. Thanks, by the way, for standing up for me,’ she added, smiling at him.  
  
‘No problem. You’ve always been there for me.’  
  
‘Couldn’t have been easy, though, with you being the Head of the Auror Office.’  
  
Harry shrugged. ‘Last time I checked, marriage is not a crime, so helping you there wasn’t in conflict with my job.’  
  
‘Considering whom I am married to, others might disagree with you on that.’  
  
‘How did that happen, Hermione?’  
  
‘You first, Harry.’  
  
‘I’m not your enemy here. I’m trying to help.’  
  
‘I know, but I have to be aware of what you know because I need to keep my vows in mind, especially now that Katie’s undoubtedly zooming in on me.’  
  
Harry sighed. ‘Very well. As a part of the hunt on Madame Moirae, I automatically get copies of every document with her name on it. So when your marriage scroll arrived at the Ministry, a duplicate appeared on my desk. I found it after I returned from dropping Ron off at the Burrow. Now, I know you can’t talk about your business with Riddle in Azkaban, but I’m pretty sure that you getting married to him is personal, not professional, so what happened?’  
  
‘Moirae happened,’ Hermione replied with a shrug. ‘I … er … Riddle sent me on some—’  
  
‘You were going somewhere on his orders!?’ Harry interrupted, wide-eyed. ‘Please tell me you had backup.’  
  
Hermione frowned at him.  
  
‘Fine, fine, you can’t speak of it. I know,’ he grumbled, ruffling with his hands through his hair.  
  
‘Well, once I was there, I cast this spell he told me to,’ Hermione ignored the exasperated groan coming from Harry and finished her sentence, ‘and her house rose from the depths.’  
  
‘And once you see her house, it’s already too late,’ Harry said, walking away and kicking against the nearby chair in aggravation.  
  
‘Well, yes, sort of, I suppose so,’ she replied, shifting uneasily.  
  
Harry turned around, eyebrows raised. ‘You suppose so?’  
  
‘I had an inkling beforehand it might’ve been something of the sort—I didn’t dare hope on it—but I had this feeling …’ she trailed off, staring at the floor.  
  
‘YOU HAD THIS FEELING?!’ Harry yelled. ‘YOU HOPED IT WOULD BE THIS?! HAVE YOU LOST ALL COMMON SENSE?! IF YOU KNEW—I—I—HE’S LORD VOLDEMORT! WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?!’  
  
‘I know perfectly well who he is, Harry,’ Hermione said, folding her arms over each other and giving him a pointed stare.  
  
Harry took a deep breath and shook his head. ‘No, you don’t. Not really. You’ve never had to deal with him one-on-one like I have. You—’  
  
‘Oh my Godric! You still think you’re the only one capable to take him. When are you two morons going to stop putting so much faith into that fraud’s words?’  
  
‘Trelawney happened to be right!’  
  
‘Right? You two are the ones making her right! “Neither can live while the other survives”,’ Hermione recited mockingly. ‘I’m impressed at the vagueness and “rightness” of it. You both have been living just fine for years and years while the other survived.’  
  
‘Just fine?! JUST FINE?! When everyone around me keeps dying due to his actions?! You think I acted because of a prophecy?! I had to stop him!’  
  
‘You—’  
  
‘He tortured and murdered almost everyone I cared about, and you think he’s not my problem!? You say this is my ego!?’  
  
‘I—’  
  
‘And now he’s targeting you, my best friend! I’ll strangle him with my bare hands!’  
  
‘Harry—’ Hermione tried, alarmed.  
  
‘Trying to get to me through you. No, no, no! I’m not going to let him destroy you as he destroyed so many others. Don’t you see what he’s doing?!’  
  
Hermione opened her mouth, but before she had a chance to speak, Harry’s rant was already continuing, not waiting for an answer.  
  
‘He’s put a rift between the three of us! Just like he did before! My two best friends! Don’t stand there and say this isn’t about me! My parents, Sirius, Cedric—’  
  
‘WILL YOU LET ME SPEAK FOR A MOMENT!?!’ Hermione hollered, throwing her hands in the air in frustration.  
  
 **BANG!**  
  
The windows of the flat blew out of their frameworks. Thousands of tiny glass splinters flew against the nearby buildings and onto the street.  
  
‘Umph!’ Hermione groaned when Harry collided into her, pushing her to the floor for cover. His silvery shield surrounded them fast and she watched him whip his wand around above his head. ‘That was me!’ she yelped, freezing him.  
  
‘What?’ Harry asked, looking down at her with a frown.  
  
‘Oops,’ Hermione said, hoisting her shoulders unapologetically. ‘I’ve not taken that potion the Healer gave me yet. I haven’t had time to research it. So when I’m emotional, things tend to go berserk.’  
  
Harry just stared down at her, his mouth slightly ajar as if something had just stricken him.  
  
‘What?’ she asked tentatively, searching his face for what had suddenly upset him. ‘I’ll take it if I’m certain it’s absolutely safe. I’ll just have to be careful with my casting until then.’  
  
He shook his head. ‘It’s not about your casting. I … I had forgotten you were pregnant.’  
  
‘Oh.’ Hermione lowered her eyes, not knowing what to say to that.  
  
After an uncomfortable silence, she met his eyes again. The worry on his face had increased tenfold.  
  
‘Ermm …’ she mumbled, shifting under him. ‘Could you …?’ She gestured to his body. ‘I mean you’re getting rather heavy.’  
  
‘Oh, sorry,’ Harry said, immediately rolling off her and getting to his feet.  
  
She took his outstretched hand and allowed him to help her up. Then, they looked away from each other in silence, still not knowing what to say.  
  
After some time passed, Harry asked softly, ‘Are … are you okay with it?’  
  
‘What?!’ Abruptly, Hermione swivelled her head back to Harry. ‘No, of course not. Do you think I’m insane?’ As a lion about to pounce on its prey, she continued whilst Harry stepped back in reflex. ‘It’s not like he’s father-of-the-year material, but I can’t really change it now, can I?’ She placed her hands on her sides, daring him to disagree.  
  
Harry raised his hands in the universal sign of surrender. ‘I’m just concerned; don’t bite my head off.’  
  
‘I know. Sorry, it’s not your fault,’ she said, making a face. ‘It’s a sore subject. Argh!’ She grabbed her hair, yanking at it briefly, as she let out the frustrated noise. Her face expressed her discontent with the situation when she glared into nothingness next. ‘I should’ve taken precautions. How could I have been so stupid? One time, one time I don’t check and research something, and it blows up in my face. And the nerve of him—’  
  
‘He knows?’ Harry asked, alarmed. ‘Please tell me he doesn’t know, Hermione.’  
  
Her sheepish expression was answer enough.  
  
‘You told him?’ Harry gasped. ‘Hermione, for goodness’s sake, why? He—he’s killed people for less.’  
  
‘Why wouldn’t I say something? He’s the father whether I like it or not, and I was angry, had to vent it out on someone—best it be him. Besides, it’s not going to remain invisible forever; he’d have seen it eventually, so trying to hide my pregnancy from him now was pointless.’  
  
‘If you had simply stopped going there, that whole visibility argument would’ve been moot.’  
  
‘I had a job to do.’  
  
‘Well, at least you don’t have to go anymore now,’ Harry said, relieved.  
  
‘Says who?’ she snapped.  
  
It turned quiet again. Harry slowly shook his head as he sent her a pitying look.  
  
‘He’s got to you, hasn’t he?’ he stated softly.  
  
‘You need to stop worrying about everyone else. I know what I’m doing,’ she replied, taking his hand and squeezing it.  
  
‘I don’t think you do. I think he pulled the wool right over your eyes. The way you’re reacting …’ He tossed his hands in the air in defeat. ‘You’re not even upset about being married to him, not truly, and this isn’t a common marriage either. The Ministry can’t overrule this. If only we could, it would solve all problems that damn witch created. There is no way out of a Moirae Marriage, Hermione.’  
  
‘Exactly,’ Hermione replied, smirking triumphantly. ‘No way for him either. I win,’ she declared in an upbeat tone of voice.  
  
‘You win?’ Harry said, befuddled. He clearly seemed to think she was off her rocker.  
  
‘You never asked me what type of bond we’re married under,’ she added mischievously.  
  
Harry huffed. ‘If you think a bond he picked will make you a winner, you’ve been inhaling Potions fumes for too long. They clearly ruined—’  
  
‘Seven,’ Hermione interrupted, folding her arms over each other expectantly.  
  
Harry furrowed his brow, and she could see the wheels of his mind turning before he said tentatively, ‘Riddle would never have picked seven. I figured you’d be married under three. Maybe one, yes, but definitely not seven.’  
                                    
‘Too bad.’ She snorted.  
  
‘How did you, why, what?’ He stopped talking, staring at her in confusion.  
  
‘Bribed Moirae,’ Hermione replied cheerfully as if it were everyday business, no big deal.  
  
Harry pressed his eyes closed and shook his head. When he was done, all that came out of his mouth was a baffled: ‘Only you.’  
  
‘You should’ve seen the look on his face when I told him,’ Hermione said, sniggering gleefully. ‘He was speechless for hours.’  
  
‘That’ll be the day. I thi—’ The doorbell rang, halting Harry’s reply. Frowning, he looked at her. ‘Are you expecting company?’  
  
‘No,’ Hermione said, shrugging, ‘Maybe someone contacted the Aurors after I blasted the windows to pieces?'  
  
As she moved to walk past him, Harry grabbed her arm, pulling her back. ‘I got this,’ he said, sounding suspicious, as he moved to the door with his wand out behind his back.  
  
‘Oh really, Harry,’ Hermione said, rolling her eyes as she stared at his retreating figure. ‘I’m a grown woman. I can open my own bloody door.’  
  
‘I’m sure you can,’ he replied lightly, grabbing the doorknob.  
  
‘Men,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘Ridiculous creatures.’  
  
Hermione turned around, stomping away to fix her windows. Mentioning them had made her realise it had got rather cold in here.  
  
In the distance, Harry opened the door rather abruptly. He had to jump sideways to let James pass who ran indoors fast, shouting: ‘Auntie Hermy, Auntie Hermy!’  
  
‘Ginny,’ Harry said, surprised. ‘I thought you were going to stay at the Burrow with James?’  
  
‘I planned to, but I had to get away from there.’ Before Harry had a chance to ask her why, Ginny rapidly changed the subject and asked, ‘Is Hermione all right?’  
  
Harry sighed, turning his head to the living room where Hermione responded to James’s lively chatter in a cheerful tone of voice.  
  
‘She seems to think so.’  
  
‘But you disagree,’ Ginny said knowingly, moving indoors and shrugging her coat off.  
  
‘When you said you were going to the Burrow, I didn’t know yet that she was married to Riddle now,’ Harry said softly, closing the door.  
  
Ginny froze; then, abruptly, she spun around. ‘Married?’ she asked, horrified. ‘Bu-but … why, how?’  
  
‘Madame Moirae,’ Harry answered darkly.  
  
‘You need to catch that witch, Harry,’ Ginny said, her eyes narrowing in anger.  
  
‘Trying.’  
  
‘I really mean it,’ Ginny hissed. ‘No, I don’t. No Aurors. No due process. I want to catch her, have a “word” with her myself. So many women’s lives she ruined with her archaic, chauvinistic, paternalistic, oppressive bonds. And now, she thinks she can get our Hermione? Moirae’s got another one coming when I get to her. Surely, the Ministry isn’t going to sit back and let this happen? Oh, forget I said that:  _We_  need to do something. There must be a way to fix this.’  
  
Doubtful, Harry looked at his wife.  
  
‘Come on, Harry, this isn’t you. You never give up. Together with Hermione, I’m sure we can find a way out of her marriage. There has to be something,’ Ginny said, optimistic.  
  
‘You’re assuming she wants out,’ Harry said quietly.  
  
Ginny’s face fell. Slowly, she began shaking her head. ‘No,’ she whispered, ‘no, he’s not getting her. We’re not giving up, no matter how deep she’s in now, we’re not giving up on her. How bad is it?’  
  
‘Very bad. I believe she’s in far deeper than she realises,’ Harry answered.  
  
‘No, I’m in precisely as deep as I want to be!’ Hermione countered from the living room, while the glass reassembled itself into its framework upon her casting and James cheered loudly.  
  
‘Can I do magic now, Auntie Hermy?’ James pleaded hopefully.  
  
‘Sure,’ Hermione said, waving her wand around and Accio-ing one of her toy wands.  
  
She redirected its path to James and he caught it effortlessly. Immediately, James started waving it around. The tip automatically conjured soap bubbles around him that slowly changed to various animal shapes, making James giggle and call out their names. In a hurry to do more magic ‘himself’, James made all kinds of wand gestures, building brick towers, making it snow and so much more. George had found those wands brilliant and asked Hermione a thousand times if he could market those toy wands at his shop, but she’d declined, lecturing him about the clause in the  _Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery_  that would get him and his shop in trouble over them.  
  
Seeing James enjoying her invention, Hermione smiled and turned around, pacing to her small hallway. She really wasn’t looking forward to an entire evening of discussing her situation with Harry and Ginny. What was she supposed to say?  
  
 _I happen to like his company? He’s brilliant? I lov—have feelings for him?_    
  
Yes, that would go over very well and surely get them out of the door before midnight.  
  
Nope, she had to do something to reassure them, to make sure they wouldn’t get involved and ruin everything she’d so carefully planned.  
  
‘Come on, you two, don’t stand there by the door as if the cat ate your canary. I’m fine. Really. You are forgetting he’s got no magic and is safely tucked away in jail,’ Hermione stated firmly, not really believing the safe part of her argument herself but conveying it convincingly nevertheless.  
  
However, it turned out that no matter what she did or said, she wasn’t able to assuage Harry and Ginny that things were just dandy, and she was still in for a long night of debates concerning her situation. The one positive result she was able to gain was that they wouldn’t visit Riddle. Fortunately, Harry was smart enough to realise it would only be doing Riddle a favour if he were to go to Azkaban. And when they finally left for their own home, Hermione hugged her friends goodbye, feeling very blessed to have them.

xxx

  
Back in the privacy of their own home, Ginny turned to Harry. ‘I think she’s fallen for him.’  
  
Harry nodded. ‘I think you’re right. She’s not seeing it, though.’  
  
‘Of course, she isn’t. She doesn’t want to acknowledge  _that_ , especially not to us.’  
  
‘You don’t think we could be wrong?’ Harry suggested, pondering hopefully on that option. ‘I mean Hermione’s not stupid; maybe she really does have the situation under control like she said?’  
  
‘I doubt it,’ Ginny replied firmly. ‘With the way he operates? Fat chance.’  
  
‘I know,’ he said in anguish. ‘I don’t know how to get her to admit it. We already told her that we understood, that we wouldn’t blame her for it, but she keeps telling us not to get involved.’ A garbled, frustrated noise left his throat. ‘As if I’m not involved already. We can’t protect her from him if she doesn’t want to see the truth about her relationship with him.’  
  
‘She’d tell you it’s not your job to protect her,’ Ginny said, smiling when she saw her husband’s exasperated expression at that. ‘Well, I’m glad that at least he and his Death Eaters are all imprisoned. I’d hate to think what kind of threat they could be to Hermione’s security if they were on the loose.’     
  
At least Harry could agree on that.  
  
Two weeks later, nobody in the Wizarding World paid any attention to the two separate obituaries posted in the Muggle newspapers. After all, there was nothing suspicious about those Muggles’ deaths.

xxx

  
The next morning, Hermione made an appointment with her Orator at the end of the day. After that, she just stared at the clock in her flat. It was only a quarter past eight, and she’d already done everything she needed to for the entire day. She’d tidied up and cleaned everything, did every household chore available and made a list of things she needed to reacquire. Hermione wasn’t used to having spare time. She’d always had loads of responsibilities and things to do. Now there was nothing.  
  
Of course, she could go shopping. She needed a new toaster and some other household appliances. She planned to forego a new television set—she never watched it anyway—but she’d like a new sound system since she loved listening to music, especially Mozart. Most of the furniture had been hers or bought by them together, so that was still all here—although Hermione had a sneaking suspicion the latter was more due to Harry’s presence and Ron lacking a proper storage facility. Still, the flat missed its homely feel because most of the wall decorations had been Ron’s. They weren’t to her taste, but without the Quidditch posters and memorabilia, the walls were awfully empty and cold. However, she just wasn’t in the mood to go shopping.  
  
Sipping down another mug of coffee, she reread the front page of the Daily Prophet and sniggered about the juicy details concerning the sex scandal Minister Valentino had been caught in. It was such irrelevant news brought by the reporter as if he’d cracked the next Watergate that Hermione could just see Riddle’s face as—  
  
Hermione slapped her forehead for not thinking of this sooner. She could go to Azkaban as a regular visitor. It would take a bit longer to pass security and be less comfortable in travelling, but she didn’t need McGregor’s approval to visit her husband in her free time. Quickly changing out of her leisurely outfit into something more appropriate and gathering her belongings, Hermione spun on the spot and Disapparated. It took a while to pass the visitor’s entrance, but eventually she was at the desk she always came to, placing her wand on it and saying hello to Doris.  
  
Immediately, Hermione knew something was wrong. Doris was a regular chatterbox and always warm and welcoming whilst she would rapidly inform Hermione of all the latest Azkaban gossip. Now, she had a difficult face as if she were squeezing out a rather large turd, and on top of that, her tone of voice had an apologetic quality to it as she said her greeting to Hermione, while her hand scratched her neck uncomfortably.  
  
‘What’s wrong?’ Hermione asked, putting an appropriate look of concern on her face.  
  
Doris quickly glanced over her shoulder and then leaned forward. ‘You’re not here to see Riddle, are you?’ she whispered apologetically.  
  
‘What if I were?’  
  
‘Then, I’d have to report it—special orders of the Head of the Department of Mysteries.’  
  
 _Really, Katie? Pathetic._  
  
Hermione shrugged. ‘Report away.’  
  
‘I’m not allowed to give you access either.’  
  
Now  ** _that_**  was a problem.  
  
‘I’m sorry,’ Doris added, sending her another one of those apologetic expressions as she gave Hermione her wand back.  
  
‘Not your decision,’ Hermione replied, smiling at Doris to show her she wasn’t blaming her while her mind quickly went over her options.  
  
She’d already checked in at the visitor’s entrance. Going in and then going out without a notice at the front desk would be equally telling as to whom she’d come to visit; besides, not being able to visit Riddle at all in the future was the real issue here.  
  
 _Dammit._  
  
She’d hoped things wouldn’t have to come to this. She would’ve liked to keep up the charade a bit longer. But if McGregor wanted an ugly fight, Hermione was more than prepared to give her one. It seemed she would have to cancel her appointment with her Orator; he was extremely good at his job, but his morals—the reason she’d picked him as her Orator a long time ago—weren’t going to allow him to do what needed to be done here. She was going to need an absolute pig …  
  
‘Hermione?’ Doris asked, searching her face for a reaction.  
  
‘Oh sorry, were you saying something?’  
  
Now where to find one at such a short notice? She couldn’t ask Riddle for a name anymore. Merlin, why’d she interrupted him back then? Stupid, stupid, stupid.  
  
‘Yeah, I was wondering if you were all right. You should be going before they spot you.’  
  
‘They already know I am here, Doris. You’re forgetting the check-in logs have my name on them.’  
  
‘Yes, but they can’t prove you came here for him unless you sign my log, which states which inmate you’re here to see. For all they know, you’re here to visit someone else.’  
  
‘I think that would exceed the plausible point in the deniability by far, Doris,’ Hermione said humorously.  
  
‘Well, then just go see someone else. I may have someone …’ Doris trailed off, pondering.  
  
‘What did you just say there?’ Hermione asked, her eyes shining brightly as the idea sprung to mind. There was someone else who would know the name of an excellent, sleazy Orator, and she wouldn’t mind paying him a visit at all.  
  
‘Just go see someone else. Professor Qummary has been incarcerated  _again_  for denying to pay all his taxes and fines  _again_. I’m sure you can talk to him forever about his research regarding the functioning of Wizarding versus Muggle societies, and I bet he’d love a visit from you.’  
  
‘You know that’s a really good idea,’ Hermione said brightly, sharing a conspiring moment with Doris, ‘but I have someone else that I need to see more urgently.’  
  
‘Okay, well, anyone will do,’ Doris said, accepting Hermione’s wand back. ‘Who can I sign you in for then?’  
  
‘Lucius Malfoy,’ Hermione said with a vicious smirk on her face.

xxx


	14. Complications

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my betas: Serpent In Red, Cosettex and Lady Miya.
> 
> I thank Serpent In Red for supplying me with the name Wispy. As always I hate naming house-elves and drew a complete blank again. I also thank Lady Miya for suggesting the name Jensen for the Orator I had temporarily named McSlimy in anxious anticipation of something better. XD

**The Prisoner**  
  
 **Chapter 14: Complications**  
  
Sitting on the ragged bunk with his arms around his knees, Lucius Malfoy—once again—listed all the reasons in his mind why he didn’t deserve to be here in Azkaban. He was tricked, coerced, cursed, tortured, made to feel like a guest in his own home; his house, his priceless belongings, cast aside like rubbish by the Dark Lord; his precious cane was broken, and his wand was destroyed beyond repair.  
  
‘I WAS A VICTIM, TOO!’ he yelled desperately against the empty, stone walls of his cell, hugging his legs tighter. ‘Cissy,’ he sobbed. ‘I want my Cissy.’  
  
He’d never felt so alone in his life. Narcissa couldn’t make it this morning—some appointment she couldn’t reschedule. Didn’t she know that only seeing her thrice a day was already murder? How could she leave him here all alone? Who’d do his hair now? She couldn’t even fix it properly because of the horrific shampoo they had him use here. No Conditioning Potion either! Horrified, his hand clutched to a dull, messy tuft of hair, while he narrowed his grey eyes at it.  
  
By Salazar, no! Split ends, he had split ends!  
  
Clutching to his head in despair, he didn’t understand why he had to go through all of this, why they made him suffer like this. His hair … his precious hair …  
  
Why did he have to live like this? This was a nightmare. He was an absolute mess, and for what?  
  
His wife saved Potter.  
  
 _His. Wife. Saved. Potter!_  
  
Surely, that should’ve counted for something? Why was he even here? It was so unfair. So he tortured and killed a few unworthy specimens—maybe a bit more—but still, he was a Malfoy! He was entitled. All the money he’d spent on the Wizengamot in the past; all those people who suddenly pretended not to know him anymore as if they hadn’t taken every Knut he’d offered them.  
  
Narcissa. Saved. Potter.  
  
He should’ve been given an Order of Merlin!  
  
Did ex-Death Eaters have to be dead like Severus in order to get one? Order of Merlin First Class, that’s what they’d given his oldest friend. Lucius just knew that if Severus had still been alive, he would not have been in here. He’d always mentored Severus back at Hogwarts, protected the younger student and taught him the finer details of the Arts. Severus would’ve stopped them from putting him in here. Severus knew how discreetly unhappy he’d been with the Dark Lord’s resurrection.  
  
That blasted, stupid Gryffindor rat was the reason he was in here and … Potter. That wretched boy’s half-arsed, ambiguous testimony at his trial hadn’t helped one bit.  
  
 _‘I don’t know if Mr Malfoy was a willing follower. Not to my knowledge. I can’t say if he tried to rescue anyone. I don’t have that information. Not when I was around. I can’t testify if he was a participant at the Quidditch World Cup Attack—I didn’t see him. No, I can’t rule it out. Yes, he was summoned at the gravesite. Yes, Riddle implied that those present had been “wasting their time” at the World Cup instead of trying to find him, but he didn’t state names, so I can’t be sure Mr Malfoy was included.’_  
  
And so it had gone on and on and on. Potter had gone out of his way to keep Draco and Narcissa out of Azkaban, vigorously testifying how they hadn’t had a choice and how they’d protected him at moments with severe peril to their own lives. Surely, Potter could’ve given him the same courtesy …  _for them_ , as if he’d not suffered enough at the Dark Lord’s hands. He could’ve walked away scot-free with his family if Potter had made an effort.  
  
Instead, he’d got a five-year sentence, which his Orator had claimed was a gift considering how damaging the other testimonies and evidence had been. His Orator, someone else who’d not been opposed to taking his money and then doing nothing. Five years in this hellhole, he had no idea how he was going to survive the few remaining months. He couldn’t even bathe properly. All they had were showers—a measly stream of lukewarm water with disgusting soap and stinking shampoo. And did they honestly think that a Malfoy would shave himself with those ridiculous Muggle things? They made such a horrific noise. It was pure torture.    
  
He wanted Narcissa. He needed his Narcissa. Why wasn’t she here?!  
  
The door to his cell flung open. Lucius lifted his head, glaring at the obnoxious guard. Had she come to gloat again? Doris Farrow, she always acted like he should somehow know who she was. A look of disgust flickered through her blue eyes as she opened her mouth:  
  
‘You’ve got a visitor, Lucy.’  
  
Lucy, Lucy, Lucy … always Lucy and then that snarling, demeaning tone of voice as if she were so much better than him. At least his family name wasn’t besmeared by the presence of Muggles.  
  
‘I don’t want to see anyone,’ he replied coolly, dropping his head so he didn’t have to look at that nasty woman anymore.  
  
‘Fine by me,’ Doris said lightly. ‘I’ll tell your wife you can’t make it.’  
  
His head swivelled up and he jumped from the bunk at once, his spirit fully lifted.  
  
‘Wait!’ he yelled when Doris was about to close the door with a flick of her wand.  
  
Ignoring the mocking expression on that hideous guard’s face, he practically rushed past her, truly in a hurry to get to the visiting chambers. Narcissa was here! Someone with whom he could share his terrible hair discovery. She’d understand. Narcissa always did.  
  
When they finally arrived at the corridor to the visitor’s chambers, he stopped at the first door.  
  
‘It’s the one at the far end.’  
  
Lucius immediately hurried on, not noticing the vile smile on Doris’s face.  He didn’t question that the door opened before he got there, unlike other times when he always had to wait for the guard to catch up with him, and he ran in at once.  
  
‘Cissy, you won—’ Lucius froze on the spot. In the chair behind the table sat a bushy-haired witch whose face he recalled very well after her brief stay at his house and her vicious testimony at his trial. ‘Granger,’ he hissed, swirling around to pace out.  
  
But at the door stood Doris Farrow with a gleeful smile on her face. ‘Whoops, my mistake,’ she said happily before slamming the door shut in front of his face.  
  
‘Let me out of here, Farrow!’ he yelled, ramming on the door. ‘You’re not allowed to keep me here against my will. My Orator will hear of this. He’ll inform the warden of your deception. You’ll be suspended for abuse of power. Open this door at once, now!’  
  
However, the door didn’t budge or open, no matter how hard he pounded on it. Eventually, he just stood there, leaning with his hands against the door, panting. His physical condition surely wasn’t what it used to be. He’d always been able to outrun the fastest of wizards.    
  
‘Now that was a bit pointless,’ said Granger dryly after a moment of silence.  
  
Mentally, he agreed with the Mudblood; though, he wouldn’t admit that. He knew Farrow despised him for some inconceivable reason and wouldn’t have opened that door had her life depended on it. Clearly, he was stuck here with Potter’s disgusting Mudblood. Well, he might as well listen to what she had to say. If she came here to apologise for her despicable behaviour at his trial, she’d better have something substantial to offer him in return, starting for instance with a full pardon and having his records expunged. His Orator could talk about the monetary compensations with the Ministry later.    
  
He straightened up and, with a haughty expression, turned around to face the Mudblood. She was sitting there like she were a queen on a throne with that obnoxious, know-it-all face she was always sporting. Filth. Though, he couldn’t help but notice that pearl-coloured coat she was wearing. It was clearly expensive. He suddenly felt at a disadvantage with his current state of being: unshaven, messy and wearing those ugly trousers and shirts Azkaban provided them with. Not to mention that they were made of simple cotton. It shaved against his skin and other more private areas.  
  
No Malfoy had ever worn anything but the finest of fabrics: Acromentula’s silk, dragon hide,  Manticore fur, and he could continue on naming priceless materials forever. Yet, cotton was and should never have been on that list. That Mudblood couldn’t even begin to imagine what those of true standing wore. And that hair of hers … he’d wear a sack over his head if his would look like a ragged bush all the time.  
  
No, he was definitely the better of the two here. Feeling superior again, he strode to the chair at the opposite end of the table and sat down, waiting for Granger to finally open her mouth.  
  
Did she just smirk mockingly  _at him?_  
  
‘To what do I owe this enormous pleasure?’ he snarled.  
  
In reply, she quietly leaned back in her chair and folded her hands over her stomach, her brown eyes flickering over his appearance in what he now knew was surely mockery. How dare she consider herself above him? He, too, leaned back in his chair and copied her stance to the minute detail. If she were going to play mute, he could, too. Besides, he doubted she was planning to stay long; she’d kept her coat on and it was incredibly warm in this chamber because the main heating pipe ran through it.  
  
‘I’ve been told they don’t use this chamber normally because the magical surveillance on it is damaged. Such a pity, don’t you agree, that nobody is aware of what occurs here?’  
  
Was she threatening him? Without a wand? Stupid Mudblood. The direct surveillance might be down, but Azkaban’s wards worked everywhere—something a proper, pure-blood witch would’ve known.  
  
‘Not really,’ he replied, uncaring. ‘Nothing is going to occur here.’  
  
‘I beg to differ,’ Hermione said softly. ‘I need to know the name of an excellent Orator who’s not afraid to cross a few lines and will do whatever it takes to win, no matter what.’  
  
‘And you’re telling me this because …?’ he replied, feigning disinterest.  
  
If she needed something from him, he’d have leverage over her. There’d be something to bargain over. In his mind, he was already sitting in his parlour, enjoying the peacocks in his garden again.  
  
‘You’re going to give me a name.’  
  
He snorted.  
  
‘And it better be the best one you can think of or this will become incredibly unpleasant for you.’  
  
‘Nothing can be more unpleasant than sitting across from filth like you, and your threats are those of a silly girl who doesn’t know the true ways of the wizarding world,’ Lucius snarled. ‘Why should I help you when you put me in here? What’s in it for me?’  
  
‘You get to stay in one piece,’ Hermione said sweetly.  
  
He huffed and shook his head. ‘You can’t do—’  
  
His mouth stayed stupidly open, frozen in surprise, when the table between them flew to the side, smashed into the wall and disintegrated into a million, tiny pieces. He stared at the destruction in shock, waiting for the Azkaban wards to activate, waiting for guards to storm in, waiting and waiting while nothing happened. The realisation that he was in serious jeopardy rushed through him, turning him paler than ever before, and he closed his mouth, slowly turning his attention back to the predator sitting across him.  
  
Then, he realised what he’d just thought and shook his head. Why did he call that girl a predator in his mind? She supported house-elves’ rights for Salazar’s sake. He must be going mental.  
  
However, she did stare at him with an unnerving, I-know-something-you-don’t expression. When she shifted in her seat, he froze, waiting for a curse to impact him. But she merely moved around in the chair, sitting more sideways now as she propped her hand under her head, her elbow resting on the chair’s arm, while she crossed her legs. Now he noticed the long stiletto heels of her boots. He blinked. Not even his sister-in-law had worn heels that high, and Bella’d always loved to stab her victims with them.  
  
‘The name,’ Hermione said shortly.  
  
He raised his head back to her face, calculating his options. Surely, she was bluffing. She was a Gryffindor, a goody two-shoes … a war hero, he added, disgusted. Striking a table was one thing. Surely, she would da—  
  
‘AAAAAAAAAAAAAH!’  
  
His screams filled the air as he toppled over, chair and all, thrashing and writhing on the ground. His hands grabbed his head, trying to ease the pain that stabbed into him like white-hot needles from every angle. He didn’t even notice Granger getting out of her chair and approaching him until she lifted the Cruciatus Curse and planted her foot on his chest.  
  
‘Yo-you ca-can’t do this,’ he stuttered.  
  
‘Why not?’ Hermione asked lightly. ‘I don’t recall you coming to my rescue when Bellatrix did this to me. Why should I possibly have mercy on your pathetic person?’  
  
‘Because I’ll tell them you used an Unforgivable. You’ll be imprisoned, too. The wards—’ he coughed.  
  
‘The Cruciatus leaves no physical traces if used for brief intervals. It’ll be your word against mine. Wanna take a bet on who’s going to win that, too, Ferret?’ She stepped away and began circling him, her coat flowing around her like a travesty of a white halo. ‘I like my chances, don’t you agree?’  
  
He remained silent as he had no reply to that and he had to buy time. Visiting hours were only for an hour. Someone would come. Soon.  
  
‘Also, if you’d paid attention before, you would know that the wards aren’t observing anything. I blocked them.’  
  
She blocked the Azkaban wards? But that was impossible. They were ancient, like the ones on Malfoy Manor, erected in the past by someone who never bothered to document the method. No one even knew precisely how these types of wards worked or could block them without attracting attention except for …  
  
He stared up at the witch standing above him in horror. Impossible. No, no, no. Impossible.  
  
‘The name,’ Hermione repeated coolly, her arms crossed over her chest.  
  
‘How do you know how to block those wards?’  
  
Hermione crouched down beside him, her face set in a vicious smile. ‘How do you think I know?’  
  
‘No,’ Lucius said, shaking his head, ‘no, he wouldn’t. You are a Mudblood.’  
  
Her expression was beyond furious, and she flicked her wrist in a familiar movement. Terror filled him before his screams echoed through the chamber once more, though not from the Cruciatus Curse this time. If only that were the case. His eyes rolled to the back of his head; his back arched off the floor; his skin was visibly moving, showing insects that suddenly crawled underneath it. Bugs, flesh-eating bugs, he could feel it; he knew it; he knew the effects of this curse; he’d seen  _Him_  use it on others. They needed to be removed. Desperate, he clawed with his nails over his face. Wherever he lacerated his skin, bugs fell out, giving a new rise to his panic. They’d eat him alive. Slowly.  
  
‘Stop!’ he yelled desperately, praying she’d know the counter spell, too. ‘Jensen, you need Alan Jensen! Please stop!’  
  
It ended at once.    
  
‘Alan Jensen?’ she questioned, not giving him even a chance to let out a breath of relief.  
  
He nodded silently, his hands rapidly investigating his face. She’d healed him fully. How did she know? The Dark Lord had never shared any of this with any of his followers, not even Bellatrix knew this curse or the counter for that matter. Why her?  
  
‘If I find you’ve giving me a wrong name …’ Hermione trailed off threateningly.  
  
‘No, no, he’s the best,’ Lucius immediately said, worried she’d turn him into bug-food again.  
  
‘He better be, or I promise you that whatever the Dark Lord did to your precious furniture will be nothing compared to what will be left of it when I’m done with your manor, Ferret. Trust me when I say that there will be nothing left but ashes.’  
  
On that note, she rose and stalked out of the chamber, leaving him lying stock-still on the stone floor. It took a considerable amount of time before he dared to move and curled up into a ball, wishing his wife was here so he could warn her against this obvious, new threat. Granger had somehow, for some inconceivable reason, changed sides. He was going to die. They were all going to die.  
  
‘Cissy,’ he whispered ever so hoarsely in fright.

xxx

  
On a high, Hermione left the visiting chamber, satisfied with the result and the process to it. When she turned the corner, however, Doris stood there, apparently waiting. Wasn’t she supposed to be at the front desk again by now? Hermione frowned when immediately the short-stature guard approached her.  
  
‘I take it your business with Mr Malfoy is done then?’ Doris asked loudly.  
  
Hermione nodded silently, a bit bemused with the guard’s behaviour.  
  
 _Had she been waiting for **that**  or perhaps—the more likely scenario—had she been eavesdropping at the door?_  
  
Hermione nearly snorted at that. Doris would’ve been disappointed then. Her Muffliatos were impenetrable.  
  
As Doris walked past Hermione, she whispered under her breath, ‘Just giving you a heads-up that Warden Walden wants to see you in his office about some items they uncovered in the Dark Lord’s cell. Blame me.’  
  
‘What?’ Hermione started, appalled at that suggestion, but Doris’s quick steps indicated that she had already moved on.  
  
Blood drained from Hermione’s face as she recalled all the things she’d left behind there: some very illegal books, newspapers, food, notebook, pens, _her underwear!_  And who knew what else Riddle had nicked that she’d not even missed? A groan nearly left her mouth, yet, she kept her composure and walked on as if nothing were amiss—her mind rapidly going over her very limited options here. She couldn’t possibly blame it all on Doris. She liked Doris. They’d become friends over the past few months. She’d even visited her home once, met her three children. No, she just had to keep her mouth shut and let the warden do all the talking. Apparently, this was something else Jensen had to fix. As she reached the door to the central hall of Azkaban, Hermione looked back one more time, meeting Doris’s blue eyes. The guard nodded adamantly, seemingly understanding Hermione’s reluctance to put the blame on her. Hermione shook her head determinedly.  
  
‘Trust me,’ Doris mouthed and then she vanished around the corner.  
  
 _Trust her, trust her? That wasn’t the issue!_  
  
Every movement she did from thereon was mere routine, because her keen mind was considering options and scratching them through as quickly as they arose. She didn’t even comment on Russell’s rude behaviour as she followed him to the warden’s office silently.  
  
 _Everything you say can and will be used against you._  
  
‘Mr Walden will be with you in a moment,’ Russell said coolly as he closed the door of the empty office behind her.  
  
 _Why wasn’t he here? Meeting Katie outside, perhaps? Did Azkaban personnel even know about her marriage to Riddle?_  
  
 _Unlikely._  
  
Finally, Hermione realised she’d no idea what to truly expect and what they did and did not know, so she had to think on her feet and not worry prematurely. She took in a deep breath and loosened her shoulders, her eyes going over the luxurious surroundings—a seating arrangement with big, black-leather Chesterfield couches near a burning hearth, a huge, clearly expensive, wooden desk, wall-to-wall cabinets, crystal chandeliers, thick Persian carpets on the marble floor, her eyes couldn’t take it all in at once. There was too much to see. The Founder of Azkaban, Emmanuel Floris Azkaban the Third, was prominently present above the hearth, showing off his many awards in his large wizarding painting. His behaviour was reminiscent of Gilderoy Lockhart’s and it made Hermione snort in amusement.    
  
She walked around, taking in the many titles on the open cabinet shelves with interest. The closed cabinets raised her curiosity and she couldn’t resist giving them a go. Unfortunately, they were locked so she moved to the desk. Those drawers were all locked, too. The desk itself was incredibly neat: an empty, brown-leather desk pad, an inbox that was slowly filling in the warden’s absence, an empty outbox, a crystal ink jar with a seagull feather quill resting in it, a stack of empty parchments with the official Azkaban seal on it, a prominently placed silver letter opener that rested on an oak wood holder with the inscription ‘Warden of the Year ’—Hermione shook her head in disbelief at the meaninglessness of said title since Walden was the only warden in the wizarding U.K.—and several family photographs. There was nothing on the desk that she’d left behind in Riddle’s cell.  
  
Well, she figured that would’ve been too easy.  
  
As she moved to the appropriate position for her to be at, namely the front of the desk, her eyes fell back on the photographs. Interested, Hermione picked them up one by one. Two boys flew in and out the photo on toy broomsticks while a blond woman stood in the garden with a potted plant in her hands, laughing. Another had all four of them and a girl in her late teens, clearly posing for a family portrait. There was one of him and his wife alone. And another, this time immobile, portrait in which Hermione recognised a slightly older version of that teenage girl who was holding a tiny baby on her arm while a clearly Muggle male had his arm around her shoulders.  
  
They all seemed happy, Hermione thought.  
  
The door creaked open behind her and she placed the photo back on the desk, turning around to face the slightly obese man walking indoors with his thick overcoat still on.  
  
‘I’m terribly sorry to keep you waiting, Mrs Weasley,’ he apologised, placing his overcoat on the coat hanger next to door.  
  
So, he didn’t know the details of her situation. One point in her favour, for now.  
  
‘My daughter Elena,’ he said proudly, pointing to the photograph Hermione’d just placed back on his desk. ‘She gave me this Muggle phone—’ He waved with the tiny device. ‘—so I’d be able to reach her and James faster. However, the Azkaban wards interfere with the reception. If I’m lucky, I’m getting one bar at the edge of the east cliff. The disturbance makes it nearly impossible to hear them.’ He sighed. ‘But I’m being rude, my telephone problems aren’t yours and we’ve not even been introduced.’ He held out his hand. ‘I’m Honorus Walden.’  
  
‘A pleasure to meet you, Mr Walden, and I honestly didn’t mind listening to your technology issues. My parents are Muggles, too. I’ve had similar problems at my job at the Ministry,’ Hermione said, smiling as she shook his hand.  
  
So far so good. He seemed kind enough and wasn’t hostile towards her at all. Actually, she felt she’d taken a rather unusual, instant liking to this seemingly warm individual.  
  
‘I’m Hermione,’ she introduced herself.  
  
‘Ah, then you have to call me Honorus,’ the man said pleasantly. ‘I wish I’d had time to meet you before, Mrs— I mean, Hermione. I’m sure we could compare notes on the annoyance of not being able to use technological advances.’  
  
Hermione laughed. ‘Yes, the wizarding world can be a bit behind on the times.’  
  
‘A bit?’ Honorus said, making a face while making a dismissive gesture with his hand. ‘Understatement of the year, Mi— Hermione. I never knew how much we were missing out on, until my daughter married James Connor. I daresay our educational system needs some serious upgrading.’  
  
Hermione shrugged. ‘Somehow, I doubt that will happen,’ she replied mildly.  
  
Honorus snorted. ‘I know. We’ve got complacent with everything that can be solved by magic. If I see what James knows about the world and why things work the way they do, I feel so embarrassed.’  
  
‘What does he do?’  
  
‘He’s a physicist at Cambridge University, very clever,’ Honorus said proudly.  
  
‘Ah. How did he take the whole magic thing?’ Hermione asked, amused.  
  
‘Shocked at first, naturally, but he takes it rather well. He desperately wanted to investigate its origins and inner workings, of course.’  
  
‘He’s a scientist,’ Hermione added knowingly.  
  
‘Exactly, but he understands the need for secrecy now. Their daughter is already showing magical signs, so that made him more cautious, too.’  
  
‘I suppose it would.’  
  
Honorus was staring fondly at his photos before shaking his head and turning back to Hermione. ‘I’m holding you up.’  
  
‘No problem. I enjoy talking to someone who understands the trouble of manoeuvring between Muggle and magical society.’  
  
‘Yes, that can be nice; most are so ignorant to it,’ Honorus said, smiling. He gestured to Hermione to take a seat as he sat down himself and unlocked a drawer of his desk.  
  
 _Now we’re going to have it_ , Hermione thought gloomily.  
  
When all Honorus placed on his desk was an Arithmancy textbook, several loose papers, a pen and a Daily Prophet, Hermione had a hard time keeping her face from not showing surprise. Where was the rest?  
  
‘Yesterday, McGregor ordered us to check Mr Riddle’s cell for property not belonging there and inform her of it,’ Honorus said calmly. ‘Now I don’t know where she gets off on with her constant interference in the operations of my prison, but I do have to say that we do not allow certain items to be kept in cells of certain inmates—no matter if a guard okays it.’ He stared at Hermione sternly.  
  
‘I’m sorry,’ Hermione said apologetically. ‘I can’t really go into why that was there other than that I needed those things for something he was explaining to me that I didn’t understand, and it’s not Doris’s fault it was there. I overruled her by using my Unspeakable privileges.’  
  
‘Ah, I thought as much,’ Honorus said. ‘It’s not like Doris to disregard the rules, though she really should’ve reported it to me.’  
  
He grumbled something incomprehensible underneath his breath of which Hermione only caught the word ‘McGregor’, which wasn’t spoken in an affectionate tone, too. She quickly made a mental note of the clear adversity between Warden Walden and the Head of the Department of Mysteries—something she could use to her advantage if she played her cards right.  
  
‘I’m afraid I can’t really say much about this. You’re aware I’ve secrecy vows to consider,’ Hermione said apologetically. ‘But please don’t blame your staff for this. I had the full authority of the Department of Mysteries behind me when I took those items in there.’  
  
It was a blatant lie, but if he disliked McGregor as much as he seemed to do, she kept her fingers crossed that it would have the effect she’d hope for.  
  
Honorus looked at her contemplatively, before pushing the items and a paper bag towards her.  
  
‘I’ve not contacted McGregor yet about what we found, and I’m not going to. As far as I’m concerned, we didn’t  find anything since there really wasn’t any harm done. Now, I don’t know what happened between you and your boss or why you’ve clearly been taken off a case you’ve been working on for quite some time, but—’ He leaned forward, looking at her in an almost paternal manner. ‘—Hermione, I’ve seen this before. My father used to work for the Department of Mysteries when I was a child.’  
  
He quieted, staring into thin air for a moment while his face contorted at what had to be a bad memory. Hermione waited patiently for him to continue, her face showing polite interest.  
  
‘I recall very clearly how he got sacked one day and the subsequent fallout that ruined his life. Watch your back around McGregor, dear,’ Honorus said, concerned. ‘Those Heads … they just … they don’t care who they trample over as long as their arses are covered.’  
  
Hermione smiled and leaned forward, too, touching the man’s arm. ‘I know,’ she replied, ‘don’t worry about me. I can handle myself.’  
  
‘I don’t doubt that,’ Honorus said. ‘I know what you did during the war. We all owe you a debt of gratitude. Just don’t expect that to come from the Department of Mysteries.’  
  
‘I won’t. Thank you for your concern … and discretion,’ Hermione said, as she picked up the items and put them in the bag. ‘Can I suggest something in return?’  
  
‘Naturally,’ he replied, holding up his hands openly.  
  
Her eyes flickered to his photos briefly before she said, ‘I understand that you like to have a reminder of home in your office and that you want to show off how proud you are of them, but for your family’s safety, I’d remove those pictures, Honorus.’  
  
‘I’m not letting inmates into my office,’ Honorus replied, smiling brightly at her.  
  
‘You never know what can go wrong,’ Hermione countered. ‘Do you really want to risk it?’  
  
‘Thank you for your concern,’ Honorus replied, rising from his seat as she did, ‘but it’s not like my family is a secret, and we’ve learned from past breakouts. The personnel quarters are much more secure nowadays.’  
  
‘Okay,’ Hermione said, nodding, ‘that’s good to hear.’  
  
‘I hope everything works out for you at your job, Hermione,’ Honorus said as he walked her to the door.  
  
‘I’m sure it will.’  
  
They shook hands again before saying their goodbyes and parting ways; both considered that the other party was underestimating the threat to their personal situations.

xxx

  
Hermione simply ignored the assistant who was trying to stop her and barged into the no-nonsense, typical Orator office. Orator Jensen and some bloke looked up, startled.  
  
‘Leave,’ Hermione ordered, gazing at the man in the chair while playing demonstratively with the wand in her hand.  
  
For a moment, it seemed the client planned to object, but his eyes flickered from her wand to her face nervously before hurrying out of the office in a flash.  
  
‘Now that we’re alone,’ Hermione added, flicking her wand at the door which slammed to in front of the assistant’s face who was making her apologies through all the commotion. A humming noise accompanied the ward that rose simultaneously with the closing door, and Hermione calmly sat down in the chair the other client just vacated. ‘I have some legal issues I need taken care of,’ she finished matter-of-factly.  
  
Orator Jensen leaned back in his seat and looked at her questioningly in silence. He’d not said a thing or moved once during her previous display of taking over his office. Hermione mentally noted that Lucius Malfoy obviously hadn’t sent her to some cowardly moron. Jensen seemed unperturbed, his sun-tanned, wrinkled face revealing nothing of his thoughts. His overall demeanour was in clear contrast to his looks. He made a messy, disorganised impression with his uncombed grey hair, the dark-grey stubbles on his unshaven chin and the stained, dark-blue Orator robes he wore. His robes could do with some ironing, too.  
  
 _That’s deliberate_ , Hermione thought, observing the keen sharpness that spoke volumes in those brown eyes.  _He uses his messy appearance to lure opponents into a false sense of security._  
  
She’d expected him to say something by now, but Jensen seemed determined in waiting for her to elaborate.  
  
‘Legal issues that need to be dealt with promptly and without failures,’ Hermione added sharply.  
  
‘I was under the impression you were a client of Orator Anderson-Wolsby, Mrs Weasley. He is one of the best in our field.’  
  
‘The name is Riddle,’ Hermione corrected, noticing Jensen’s sudden stiff posture, ‘Hermione Jean Riddle-Granger. And no, this is not something I can leave into the hands of Orator Anderson-Wolsby—no matter how excellent he is. I need someone who can do a bit … _“more”_ , if you get what I mean?’  
  
Jensen ignored the latter and said questioningly, ‘You’re married to the Dark Lord?’  
  
‘Yes.’  
  
‘Got anything on you to substantiate that claim?’  
  
With a flick of her wrist, her scarf vanished, displaying the collar. Jensen leaned forward, his face blank, looking first at the collar and then at the wedding ring on her finger.  
  
‘Moirae,’ he stated, leaning back again. ‘I can’t undo any marriage made by her by any means available, Mrs Riddle, if that’s whom you’re really married to.’  
  
‘I’m not asking you to undo my marriage. I have other issues I need dealt with; however, it seems you’re still questioning the validity of my words regarding my marriage?’  
  
‘Well,’ Jensen said, raising his hands in an apologetic gesture, ‘don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m having trouble imagining the Dark Lord stepping into a marriage with a Mudblood.’  
  
‘Yes, how could I possibly take that the wrong way? Thanks for using that mighty original endearment,’ Hermione snarled, pressing her wand between her hands so hard that both ends buried themselves deep into her palms. ‘Say it again and you’ll be extremely sorry.’  
  
‘I would need to see actual proof of marriage before I proceed,’ Jensen said, eyeing her wand briefly.  
  
‘Bullocks. You can proceed without proof and simply take my word for it  _if_  I am the only client you’re taking under consideration right now.’  
  
Blinking fast a couple of times, Jensen stared at her.  
  
‘Now I don’t really care if you run to my husband after my visit here, since I know he’ll second whatever I’m telling you to do. No need to look so shocked. I’m well aware you’ve handled his financial affairs so they’d remain invisible to the Wizengamot. Vault seven, three, four, eight, nine, five at Gringotts. Very clever, especially since he didn’t use it to hide his Horcrux in so nobody would think twice of checking if he had an account there—not that the Goblins would actually assist in that inquiry. No, you can ask Tom if I’m telling you the truth here and you can surely ask his permission to assist me. I’m one-hundred percent certain that he’s not amused that I didn’t show up today.’  
  
Hermione folded her arms over each other and looked at Jensen; though the Orator’s face wasn’t giving away anything, she could tell he was weighing his options by the silence. A lot of what she’d just said had been a well-educated guess, a spur of the moment decision to see what the reaction to it would be. Ever since she’d learned of the existence of that vault, she’d wondered how Riddle had kept it a secret. The second she’d laid eyes on Jensen, she’d just known that he’d been the one to handle Voldemort’s financial affairs—something no one had ever paid attention to because Lord Voldemort had never shown any interest in financial gains or other material belongings.  
  
Well, apart from his insane obsession with collecting trophies.  
  
Her face darkened briefly at the memory of all those wonderful, priceless, historical items she’d had to help destroy. Such a waste.  
  
Jensen scratched the back of his head, giving her a sharp once-over before reaching a decision.  
  
‘Mrs Riddle,’ he said slowly as if he still weren’t quite sure but began to consider the possibility of its truthfulness, ‘theoretically speaking—since I can’t confirm or deny who my clients are—if you need legal representation, it would be better to get another Orator than the one you suspect is already representing your husband.’  
  
‘I’m not in need of legal assistance against my husband.’  
  
‘What do you need my services for?’  
  
‘They’re denying me access to Tom at Azkaban. I need that undone asap.’  
  
Jensen frowned; his body moved forward as he placed his elbows on the desk and leaned with his chin on his folded hands. The wide sleeves of his robe dropped, revealing his hairy lower arms and the long scar on his right arm that marred his skin severely. It didn’t seem to end at his elbow either, but she couldn’t see more.  
  
That had to have been some accident … or curse since it had healed so badly, Hermione considered thoughtfully for a moment.    
  
‘They’re denying you access?’ he asked disbelievingly. ‘While you’re his spouse? That’s against every rule in the book, not to mention possibly life-threatening considering you’re in a Moirae bond.’  
  
‘Exactly. Well, they don’t know that I’m married there, at Azkaban … I think,’ Hermione said, pondering about that briefly. She hadn’t had any indication of it from the warden anyway.  He’d called her ‘Mrs Weasley’. ‘And I wasn’t sure if it was a good idea for me to bring it up first, so I kept quiet.’  
  
‘Good thinking. The more you’d said, the more you’d boxed me in. But maybe you better start from the beginning, so I can get a complete picture.’  
  
‘Okay. For the past couple of years, I’ve worked as an Unspeakable at the Department of Mysteries. Last year, my boss—Katie McGregor—asked me to visit Riddle for reasons I can’t get into. However, I visited him and went back on a daily basis ever since. During that time, he sent me to Madame Moirae, and yesterday, this became known to my employer, after which I was suspended from active duty. This morning, I figured that since I had nothing else to do that I could go visit Tom in Azkaban as a regular visitor, but when I got there, I was informed that I wasn’t allowed to see him. Special orders from the Head of the Department of Mysteries.’  
  
‘McGregor’s not allowed to make that call,’ Jensen said quietly. ‘Only the Wizengamot or the Warden of Azkaban can deny access under special circumstances to spouses and they have to be properly documented.’  
  
‘There are a lot of things that Unspeakables do that aren’t strictly allowed. However, our secrecy vows stop that from coming out into the open. McGregor can deny me access as long as nobody is aware I’m his spouse. I got the impression Warden Walden isn’t happy about the following, but she’s technically in charge of Riddle’s imprisonment now.’  
  
‘She is? How did that happen?’  
  
‘She took over full responsibility after the Rumsfield incident.’  
  
‘Oh yes, the slacking ward maintainer. I see.’ Jensen rubbed his chin contemplatively. ‘I take it your marriage scroll isn’t where it should be officially now.’  
  
‘No, Katie has it and I am sure she’ll want to bury it.’  
  
‘Well, that is probably in your best interest to some degree, too, but I may need it to enforce them to give you access. How much noise am I allowed to make about your marriage, given your Unspeakable Vows?’  
  
‘As much noise as you need to. My marriage is a private, personal affair, not a part of my job,’ Hermione replied. ‘I’d prefer it if it was handled discreetly, but if there is no other way, then I don’t care if it ends up on the front page of the Daily Prophet whom I’m married to as long as you can assure me that you will succeed.’  
  
Jensen pondered about that briefly, before saying, ‘What about your friends and family?’  
  
‘Everyone I care about already knows, and I’m not discussing their reactions with you so that you can relay to Riddle how they took it,’  she added when she noticed Jensen was about to open his mouth.  
  
‘It may also get you into trouble at work if it becomes public knowledge,’ he added warningly.  
  
‘I’ve thought about that on my way over here and I decided I’m going to resign my position as an Unspeakable tonight, so that’s not an issue.’  
  
‘You’re going to resign, why?’  
  
‘I like my work, don’t get me wrong, but I don’t need it. After what happened at Azkaban this morning, I figured I can move more freely if I’m without any obligations to the Ministry for Magic.’  
  
‘Don’t get  _me_  wrong,’ Jensen mimicked, ‘I know it’ll make my job a lot easier if I don’t have to worry about the consequences for you at work, but I’d still recommend you sleep on that decision.’  
  
‘Thanks for the advice, but I made up my mind.’  
  
‘Very well. I don’t think this should be too much of an issue. I’ll need to … ermm … “convince” some people how it would be in their best interest to not make a fuss about allowing you spousal access in secret, but I doubt that will take me more than an afternoon,’ Jensen said. ‘I would have to discuss it with the Dark Lord of course.’  
  
‘Naturally,’ Hermione said, rising to her feet. ‘You have my permission to talk to him about whether or not he wants me to be able to visit him. Since you estimate it will take you one afternoon, I shall be here tomorrow at eight to inquire about your progress. Good day, Mr Jensen.’  
  
She casually flashed her wand, lowering the ward, and then Disapparated.  
  
Jensen blinked a couple of times, then he started laughing as he realised the sneaky witch had only given him permission to discuss one thing with her husband. Anything else he would have to tell the Dark Lord would be a breach of client-Orator confidentiality and she’d have that hanging over his head for the rest of his life.  
  
‘Crafty,’ he muttered in slight admiration as he got to his feet. ‘Elena!’ he shouted at the same time that the door flew open and his assistant barged in, looking at him in concern. ‘Cancel my appointments for the rest of the day and tomorrow. Once you’re done with that, you can take the rest of the day and tomorrow off. I’ll be out.’  
  
‘Is everything all right?’ Elena asked. ‘She just walked past me; I tried to stop her but—’  
  
Jensen held up his hand. ‘It’s fine, Elena. You didn’t do anything wrong. Mrs … She’s a client. Now go and have some fun with your spare time when you’re finished with your work, and I’ll see you again Thursday.’

xxx

  
He was bored.  
  
Tom Riddle put the book away that under normal circumstances he would’ve found incredibly interesting. He stared at the ceiling in annoyance as the realisation washed over him.  
  
 _He. Was. Bored._  
  
Lord Voldemort was never bored. Mildly disinterested, yes, but never bored.  
  
Damned Granger.  
  
If she didn’t fix this situation soon, he’d be beyond displeased. He already was. He’d always been perfectly happy entertaining his mind on his own. Other people were just too stupid to comprehend the marvelousness that were his thoughts. Not that Granger was that much better. She could be terribly close-minded, stubborn, obnoxious, irritating, and so overly, smugly self-righteous that it made him want to—it made him want to—  
  
A frustrated growl escaped his mouth, and he flew to his feet, pacing in his cell to and fro like a caged tiger in a zoo.  
  
Once she got back, he’d show her.  
  
He had a perfect excuse to touch her now since she hadn’t shown as agreed upon. A satisfied, vile smile grew on his pale face as his vivid, creative imagination ran wild. That blasted Mudblood would learn what it meant to displease Lord Voldemort.  
  
And displeased he was.  
  
First that disgusting house-elf had shown, stating she had to confiscate his items in that despicably weak, apologetic, servant attitude of its race. Of course, it had not been difficult to get Wispy to only take the useless items with her. For the past years, she’d been the one who’d cleaned his cell and brought him his meals, and he’d taken full advantage of the house-elf’s constant presence. He’d always been able to charm even the most pitiable of creatures, and Wispy was no exception.  
  
He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose when he recalled the fit Granger had had upon learning house-elves were made responsible for these medial tasks.  
  
As if wizards should do it.  
  
She’d almost cost him all the advantages he’d gained from Wispy with her tirade about slavery and freedom in front of the silly creature. All the work it had taken him to undo her words with Wispy and regain the house-elf’s trust …  
  
He sighed.  
  
Nobody within their right mind gave a damn about those insignificant, bothersome house-elves.  
  
Wispy, what kind of name was that anyway?  
  
It meant vague, shadowy and faint, a perfect description of those blasted creatures. He’d tried to explain this to Granger, but then, she’d latched onto him and dared to give him a long lecture about S.P.E.W.  
  
On Salazar’s beard, he swore that the Cruciatus Curse was less painful to suffer through.  
  
He groaned, feeling a splitting headache approaching rapidly.     
  
Sometimes, Granger really was more trouble than she was worth _.  Like. Right. Now._  
  
Sure, it had been less than twenty-four hours since he’d last seen her, and he’d been expecting this turn of events in advance. People were always so predictable and stupid. They couldn’t foresee several steps ahead and realise how badly they affected their future with their silly, knee-jerk reactions. In the end, every step McGregor took right now would be a part of her downfall.  
  
However, surely, Granger should be a tad more creative and fix this faster. He’d known that telling her in advance what would happen and how to best counter it would have the opposite result with the stubborn Mudblood, so he’d settled for subtly giving her the right information over time in order for her to solve this situation.  _All. By. Herself._  
  
He kicked the table in frustrated anger. Difficult, insolent witch.  
  
He swore if it took her much longer—  
  
A knock on the door interrupted his tirade. Bemused, he looked in its direction. Granger never knocked, so this had to be one of the few of his insipid followers that were allowed access to him because they’d remained under the Ministry’s radar. No doubt they came to bother him some more with meaningless, silly questions that he had no time for or interest in. Whoever it was …  
  
A vile smile grew on his handsome face.    
  
Soon, Lord Voldemort would be slightly less bored. He cracked his knuckles and turned to face the door fully.  
  
‘Come in,’ he said, plastering an overly sweet expression on his face.  
  
When the door opened to reveal Orator Alan Jensen, his anger spiked through the roof. What was that idiot doing here?  Their relationship was supposed to be kept under wraps. Did he really have to do everything himself all the time?  
  
‘My Lord, I’m sorry to disturb you,’ Jensen said quickly, noticing the expression on Riddle’s face. ‘I know we agreed I shouldn’t visit you, but I have a cover story for my presence here. Hermione … er … Granger hired me to regain the right to visit you. She claims to be your wife, which of course, I need to verify. I also, as her Orator, need to check if there is a point to me making a ruckus over this, which I wouldn’t do if you are going to deny her access anyway.’  
  
Silently, Tom watched the man in front of him. She’d gone to Jensen? Interesting. Not something he’d expected.  
  
‘My Lord?’ Jensen inquired nervously.  
  
‘Did you fix it already?’  
  
‘No, I wanted—’  
  
‘Then, you’d best do so, Jensen, and fast or I won’t be pleased.’  
  
He turned away and took his book off the table. Maybe now he’d feel like reading?  
  
‘My Lord, she is aware of your private vault.’  
  
Tom sighed and looked up from his book. ‘Of course she’s aware of it; I handed her that information.’  
  
‘She also knew I was the one who buried the knowledge of your vault and basically threatened me with it.’  
  
‘Did she now?’ A cold laugh left his lips.  
  
‘Do you wish me to change the contents’ location?’ Jensen inquired. ‘I can have that done before she gains access, which as your wife, she will have. The Goblins won’t deny her when she provides them with the proof of her marriage to you.’  
  
‘That won’t be necessary. I need her to have access to that vault, Jensen.’  
  
He could practically see the wheels of the Orator’s mind turning. Jensen was above all a quick study. He never needed to explain things in detail; the man had enough at half a word to know what needed to be done. So, why was he still here?  
  
‘Anything else on your mind, Jensen?’ he inquired.  
  
‘She told me she was going to resign her position at the Ministry today,’ Jensen said, watching him closely.  
  
Tom immediately dumped the book back on the table. ‘She is what?’ he hissed furiously.  
  
Jensen retreated a step in a reflex.  
  
‘She loves her job; why would she—?’ The answer struck him like a bolt of lightning. ‘Oh, those blasted, self-sacrificing Gryffindors.’  
  
‘Do you wish me to prevent this?’  
  
‘Yes, you idiot. She is of no use to me if she loses that job. I need her there.’  
  
‘Consider it done,’ Jensen said, turning around and rushing to the door.  
  
‘Jensen,’ he said sharply, halting the man in his footsteps, ‘failure is not an option. I need her to keep her job and to remain coming here at whatever length of time it pleases me; is that clear?’  
  
‘Crystal,’ Jensen said, swallowing lightly. ‘I have to run.’  
  
‘Then go,’ he said, dismissing the Orator.  
  
His previous good mood had completely evaporated upon Jensen’s bombshell. There were only a few more months to go before he would be out of here. Now was not the time for things to go haywire on his carefully executed plans.

xxx

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I realised after writing this chapter that the part about Lucius in jail was most likely inspired by the wonderful, hilarious drawings of Makani. You can find her amazing drawings here: http://acciobrain.ligermagic.com/silly.php


	15. Fool Me Once

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _I thank my betas Serpent In Red and Cosettex._

  
  
****

**The Prisoner**  
  
 **Chapter 15: Fool Me Once**  
  
He seriously hoped he wasn’t too late. The Dark Lord would flay him alive if he were. Of course, if he were too late, there was always plan B. However, that would turn incredibly ugly, and he wasn’t convinced his real client had the stomach or the will to go through that kind of long-term battle. She had opted to resign her position after all. At last, he reached the door to the Head of the Department of Mysteries. Not waiting or even knocking, he threw it open, barging inside in a flurry and startling the parties present.  
  
Perfection.  
  
As he’d expected: three against one. Just his client, while on the opposite side of the desk sat the Head of Personnel, Ms Rooney-Scrimgeour, with McGregor on her left and the obvious legal aid—whom he didn’t know but identified by the traditional robe—on her right side.  
  
‘I trust you weren’t taking advantage of my client by talking to her without her Orator present,’ he said smoothly. Hermione had her head turned and was staring at him with an expression on her face that he couldn’t quite make sense of—she seemed … triumphant? Odd. When Hermione opened her mouth, he stopped her from speaking by holding up his hand.  
  
‘Not another word,’ he warned, pacing past her and stopping in front of the desk so the others had to look up. ‘You’re paying me to handle this.’  
  
‘You’re her Orator?’ McGregor asked, a mixture of badly disguised disgust and surprise running through her tone of voice.  
  
He didn’t reply. Instead, he immediately pulled the official retainer out of his pocket and handed it over. McGregor snatched it away before the others had a chance to take it. Standing there, he watched as her eyes flickered over the retainer that his office magically made whenever a client obtained his services. Then, McGregor abruptly turned to Hermione.  
  
‘You hired _him_?’ Now the disgust was blatant.  
  
He allowed his client to confirm that but blocked any other words coming from her mouth by stating, ‘Do continue to talk to my client instead of me _after_ it was established that she’s represented by an Orator. All it makes me hear is ka-ching.’  
  
If looks could kill, he’d be a dead man right now, but he didn’t care; he was used to that, actually revelled in it. As long as opposite sides hated him, he was doing something right. Besides, the Ministry staff was too familiar with him and his tactics; there really was no point in hiding his familiarity and knowledge of the law. They were aware he’d take advantage of every bit of wiggle room the law provided him. Fortunately, they often weren’t insightful enough to fully catch his long-term plans for achieving victory.  
  
‘Can I see that?’ Rooney asked neutrally, holding out her hand to McGregor who pushed the retainer in it straight away. Her eyes flashed over the document before handing it to the aid on her left. ‘Check this for authenticity, please.’ As the aid got up and left, she turned to Alan Jensen and said, ‘Why don’t you sit down, Orator Jensen?’  
  
A chair appeared behind him at once.  
  
‘Thank you,’ he said cheerfully, ‘at least someone has the decency to offer me a seat. However, I think—’ He rubbed his chin contemplatively. ‘—I want to take a look at _this_ first.’  
  
He quickly snatched the clearly Muggle paper with the tiny handwriting off the desk, certain he was holding Hermione’s resignation letter. However, when his eyes flashed over it, all he read was a recipe for some kind of stew. He quickly checked the rest of the desk, but there were only empty parchments present. No resignation letter. He was a dead man.  
  
‘You want her sweet potato and beef stew recipe, too?’ Katie asked mockingly, leaning back in her chair while crossing her arms in front of her chest.  
  
 _Okay, keep your composure, Alan. Just work with this, you still have a job to do._ ‘This is Ms Granger’s?’  
  
‘It’s her handwriting, isn’t it?’  
  
 _Bingo! Even better than a mere magical signature on a retainer. Game, set, match_.  
  
‘True. Why, I had no idea you could cook, Ms Granger. I have to say this does seem delicious, doesn’t it?’ he replied, straining a smile as he put down the recipe back on the table.  
  
‘Yes,’ Katie said, sharing a glance with Rooney.  
  
Slowly, he turned his back to the three at the desk, staring suspiciously at his client. A suspicion that rose tremendously when he saw the smug curve of her mouth and the triumphant, knowing glint in her eyes.  
  
Why hadn’t he seen this coming? She hadn’t resigned; she probably wasn’t even planning to. She’d used him to find out how the Dark Lord would react to this development.  
  
Granger shifted in her seat, propping her hand under her head. ‘We, of course, haven’t discussed a thing until you got here. Well, apart from some chitchat about food and the weather,’ she said pleasantly. ‘It’s been ghastly lately, wouldn’t you agree?’  
  
And she’d been expecting this outcome. Damn. The Dark Lord would not be pleased. However, if he could hear the amused undertone in Granger’s speech, there was a good chance so could the others, which meant that he had to shut her up now. They couldn’t know there was desertion in the ranks … _unless_ when he could use it.  
  
‘I would’ve preferred it naturally if there hadn’t been any contact yet.’ He walked to the chair and calmly sat down. ‘After all, I know how easily these allegedly only-social conversations turn into something with legal consequences … all accidentally of course,’ he added the latter with a knowing sneer towards the three at the desk.  
  
‘You wouldn’t be suggesting that we’d do something improper now, would you? Everyone who is on this side of the table is on Hermione’s side,’ Katie said slowly, her eyes flickering between Jensen and Hermione shrewdly.  
  
‘Well,’ he said, clapping his hands together and leaning forward as if planning to get out of his chair, ‘if that’s the case, I suppose we can call it a night and go home. Clearly, my client can go back to work tomorrow then.’ He turned towards Hermione, whilst checking the time, and said, ‘That’ll be three-hundred Galleons, dear. Easiest money I ever made.’  
  
Granger snorted at his antics, sharing his amusement. He winked at her before looking back expectantly at the two others who remained ever so quiet. It was obvious to him that McGregor was still trying to work out the dynamics between him and Granger, while Rooney was trying to keep her cards closed until the aid returned. It wouldn’t surprise him if they hoped for a slip-up on his or Granger’s end. Fortunately, his client was smart enough to keep her mouth shut, despite the extremely uncomfortable silence that had risen in the room. Many times, his perfectly drawn-out plans were screwed over by wordy clients who didn’t use their ears or brains when he told them to remain quiet or only answer the damned question. This was a refreshing change.    
  
Right then, the aid came back in, confirming it was, indeed, Hermione’s handwriting. He held out his hand and received the retainer back, pocketing it at once. It served its purpose even though he didn’t need it anymore with that recipe on the table.  
  
‘Well,’ Rooney coughed, ‘now that you’re here, I may as well inform you that your client has called this meeting to discuss her position as an Unspeakable, given recent developments. Considering the possible consequences of her now compromising position, it’s this Ministry’s standpoint that, alas, we have no other choice than to ask for her resignation, effective immediately.’  
  
‘Oh, I think not,’ he bluntly replied.  
  
‘The other alternative being that we fire her, which would reflect badly on any future career path Ms Wea—Granger might aspire to.’  
  
Interesting, he’d been using ‘Granger’ as a demonstration whom he was _not_ representing. He hadn’t expected Rooney to use his client’s maiden name, too. Clearly, they were all still playing nice. Oh well, that wasn’t going to last long.  
  
‘Again, I think not.’  
  
‘Exactly what do you have in mind then?’  Rooney asked neutrally.  
  
‘Oh,’ he said lightly, ‘I was thinking my client’s suspension should be lifted immediately. She should go do her work as usual; visit her husband; perhaps receive a significant pay rise.’  
  
Katie—who’d leaned back in her seat as if distancing herself from him as far as possible—snorted. ‘Are you delusional? She’s Voldemort’s wife. You’ve got no leverage here. Once this becomes public knowledge, she’ll be out of a job for the rest of her life.’  
  
‘Is that a threat?’ Jensen asked sweetly.  
  
Katie leaned forward and replied in the same sweet tone of voice as him, ‘No, it’s a matter-of-fact.’  
  
‘Sounded like a threat to me,’ Jensen said contemplatively.  
  
‘I don’t care wha—’  
  
‘Katie,’ Rooney interrupted, ‘I’ll conduct this interview.’  
  
‘Did it sound like a threat to you?’ Jensen asked Hermione.  
  
It was a rhetorical question and they both knew it. Hermione merely smiled at him and gave him a shrug. He began to like his client more and more by the minute. It was always nice to work with the intelligent ones.  
  
‘Yeah, that definitely was a threat and a rather bad one, too, I say, since this Ministry has more to lose than my client should this become public knowledge.’  
  
‘Nobody is threatening anyone,’ Rooney said soothingly. ‘Ms McGregor was merely stating her outrage at your unrealistic demands. Like I said before, Ms Granger’s resignation is inevitable. Should we receive a resignation letter, we’d of course supply Ms Granger with an excellent letter of recommendation and will pay her salary for the next two months in order to give her time to find new employment.’  
  
‘Whoa, two months, be still my heart,’ Jensen mocked. ‘I think you’ll be paying an awful lot more if you continue along this line. My client is kindly offering you the chance to simply continue employing her—take advantage of her productivity—something I firmly advised her against since she can basically lounge on a beach for the rest of her life once I’ve taken every single Knut this Ministry has and perhaps a tad more just for kicks.  
  
‘But before you start blabbering about how wrong I am, let me break it down to you: You have a large government organisation with a severely bad reputation. I have a known Muggle-born war heroine who risked her teenage life time and time again to save others. A known Muggle-born war heroine who received zero protection or support while conducting her _ministerial assignment_ at Azkaban involving the most dangerous dark wizard of all time—this after the incidents with Healer Cutler and his students. A kno—’  
  
‘I’m sorry for interrupting you there,’ McGregor said calmly, ‘but you’re talking nonsense. There was no need to send additional staff with Hermione since Riddle can’t get out of his cell.’ As she turned to Hermione, her tone of voice was suddenly a lot kinder, ‘Why didn’t you stay in the corridor as ordered? Nothing bad could’ve happened then.’  
  
‘Please refrain from addressing my client directly. I’m sitting right here.’  
  
‘Fine,’ Katie snapped at him, ‘if your client had stayed in the corridor where we presumed she was, he wouldn’t have been able to force her into anything. You need to have had physical contact at least once in order for Moirae to be able to do her thing.’  
  
‘Interesting,’ Jensen said quietly. ‘So, it’s your official testimony you were unaware that my client was inside his cell all this time?’  
  
‘Of course I was unaware of that. Do you think I’d let my Unspeakables alone with him?’  
  
He pointed towards the paper on the desk. ‘You’ve identified that as my client’s handwriting before, have you not?’  
  
Katie stared at the paper silently, while Rooney frowned at the sudden change in subject.  
  
‘These are official proceedings, so I’ll have it on record.’  
  
‘So what if I have?’ Katie asked defensively, but he could tell she was already onto where he was going with this.  
  
‘I’d like to see the notes my client supplied you with after her visits to Lord Voldemort.’  
  
‘Those are classified,’ Katie said with a triumphant smirk at him.  
  
‘So, if I were to obtain a document with Lord Voldemort’s handwriting on it, it would be your sworn testimony that none of those classified notes were in his handwriting?’  
  
Alarmed, Rooney held up her hand. ‘One moment, Orator Jensen. McGregor, with me,’ Rooney said brusquely as she rose from her seat and paced out the door.  
  
‘I’d love a coffee,’ Jensen said over his shoulder to the exiting couple.  
  
The door slammed shut with a bang.  
  
‘I suppose that’s a “no” to coffee,’ he muttered, faking disappointment.  
  
After some time, they finally returned.  
  
Rooney, as expected, was the one to do the talking. ‘We’re not denying that some regrettable mistakes have been made on our end. However, that doesn’t change the fact that Mrs Riddle was under clear instructions not to enter his cell, which she decided to disobey at her own risk. Neither did Mrs Riddle ask for assistance once nor did she inform us promptly of the dangerous situation she had got herself into when her marriage became a fact. These are all heavily weighing reasons for discontinuation of her employment.’  
  
So, they’d switched to ‘Mrs Riddle’; it seemed the velvet gloves had come off.  
  
‘It’s the employer’s responsibility to guarantee their workers’ safety, both psychologically and physically. The moment it became clear that my client was inside his cell, disobeying a direct order, there should’ve been at least a conversation about that, initiated by the Head of the Department of Mysteries, Ms McGregor. Has such a conversation taken place?’  
  
‘We do not comment on the internal proceedings of the Department of Mysteries,’ Rooney replied evenly. ‘You’re well aware of that.’  
  
‘I’ll take that as a “no”, then,’ he said loosely. ‘And that “We do not comment” argument will make for such wonderful headlines in the press, wouldn’t you agree?’ He shivered in delight. ‘Just envision it. I’m betting heads will roll in no time.’ He let that sink in for a second before continuing, ‘No, instead of having a conversation with my client about her work situation, Ms McGregor ignored it, deciding that the results my client brought forth were more important than her well-being and the possible risk to her life.’  
  
‘Tha—’ Katie started.  
  
‘I’m not finished,’ Jensen interrupted coldly. ‘I’m also appalled at the cavalier attitude of this Ministry in stating that this is all my client’s responsibility when no psychological assistance was given to my client who was visiting a known master manipulator with serious mental health issues on a daily basis. It cannot be expected of my client to make an objective analysis of her own psychological well-being under those circumstances. It shouldn’t even have been up to her to ask for help. Help should’ve been provided beforehand and during, every single day, on a compulsory basis. That this was not done is negligent at best and reckless endangerment at worst.  
  
‘If I have to go to the Wizengamot over this, I’ll go for the latter since—like I said—I have a known Muggle-born war heroine, who while in the service of this Ministry, got forced into a permanent marriage with her enemy, Lord Voldemort, and is now stuck with him against her will for the remainder of her life. So, due to this Ministry’s actions, my client, a known Muggle-born war heroine, lost the love of her life, Ron Weasley. My client, a known Muggle-born war heroine, who this Ministry then tried to dispose of as quickly as possible exactly like the Ministry of Magic did to others like her during the Dark Lord’s days in power. You lot are going to make me unbelievably rich. Well,’ he shrugged smugly, ‘unbelievably richer.’  
  
‘I’m afraid you’re mistaken there,’ Rooney intervened, holding up her hand to Katie. ‘As damaging as the above may seem for us, legally, we’ve obeyed by all the rules. It’s Mrs Riddle who, as an employee, failed to follow the code of conduct she vowed to uphold herself when she didn’t mention her marriage to Lord Voldemort at once. We cannot overlook such a clear transgression of the Unspeakable code of conduct even if we wanted to, given her record as a war heroine.  
  
‘We’re not trying to, as you so inflammatorily called it, “dispose of” Mrs Riddle. On the contrary, we deeply regret having to ask for the resignation of a formidable, brilliant employee, and we’re taking into account everything she did for the wizarding population by allowing her to resign her position in silence, with pay, a glowing recommendation and the knowledge we won’t advertise her current marital status to the world.  
  
‘We’re even forgoing a full investigation to her activities and whereabouts since we, right now, are willing to presume said marital status was not a voluntary choice. I daresay that given the circumstances, we’ve gone to great lengths to be exceptionally lenient here. Most employers would not have given Mrs Riddle the option to resign by herself.’  
  
‘Hmmm…  yes, all by herself,’ he said sarcastically, ‘with no added, outside pressure whatsoever. What kind of bond is my client married under?’  
  
Rooney raised her shoulders and turned to Katie who shook her head.  
  
‘I think you’re well aware that kind of information is not on the marriage certificate,’ Rooney said.  
  
‘You’re admitting this Ministry is unaware which bond my client is married under?’  
  
It was quiet for a moment before the hesitant answer came. ‘Yes.’  
  
‘So it’s also your statement that it’s not duress when you deny my client access to her husband without confirming whether or not that’s a health risk to her?’ He leaned back, placing his fingertips together and watching Rooney’s head swivel to Katie in irritation.  
  
‘Keeping her away from Riddle is essential for her safety and the security of this nation,’ Katie replied blankly.  
  
‘Oh, now, keeping her away from him is essential to her safety. Is it your official statement that knowingly denying my client access to her husband while being aware most of Moirae’s bonds include a clause of obligatory physical contact is not a form of duress?’  
  
‘Are you in danger, Hermione?’ Katie asked, worried, looking past him.  
  
He sighed. ‘How many times do I need to repeat this: Please, refrain from addressing my client directly. As your aid just confirmed for you, she is represented by an Orator. And please answer my question. Is it this Ministry’s official position that it’s not duress when it denies my client access to her husband, knowing it is highly likely that it may harm her health?’  
  
Rooney held up her hand. She leaned towards McGregor and, for a moment, the two were whispering back and forth. Finally, McGregor leaned back, clenching her jaw. Someone was not having a good evening. He looked at Rooney expectantly.  
  
‘If Mrs Riddle had informed us that this was the case, we would have—of course—immediately undone the restrictions on her access,’ Rooney said smoothly.  
  
‘Am I not speaking English?’ he asked, looking at Hermione questioningly.  
  
She raised her brow in response; her entire face nonverbally questioned him mockingly if he really wanted an answer to that and, if so, whether she were allowed to speak now.  
  
A client with a brain and a sense of humour, lucky him.  
  
‘Were you informed when you were denied access that said restriction would be lifted if your life was in danger?’  
  
‘No,’ Hermione said; he could tell she was biting back a smirk.  
  
‘Then, there we have duress.’  
  
‘Only if her life truly is in jeopardy. So, is it?’ Katie asked sweetly.  
  
‘Hereby, the Head of the Department of Mysteries acknowledges that she has the capability of asking about any risks to my client’s health and has foregone to do so before implementing a rule that could kill my client.’ In order to be heard over McGregor’s sputters of protest, he raised his voice slightly, ‘The fact that Ms McGregor hasn’t done that beforehand is gross negligence at best and, at worst, a deliberate undue duress to get my client to resign her position. Either way: I win,’ he stated triumphantly. ‘As for your previous monologue regarding this Ministry’s perceived lack of legal wrongdoings, I’m telling you that none of that matters in the court of public opinion. I can see it now,’ he widened his hands, ‘front page of the Daily Prophet in big bold letters: “War Heroine Railroaded by Ministry of Magic, This Is How Our War Heroes Get Thanked”. With the amount of copy we’ll supply them with, I think they may spend a whole print on it or perhaps do a featured series.’  
  
Before Rooney had a chance to stop her, Katie said, ‘If you’re under the assumption that Ms Granger has no skeletons in her closet, Jensen, you’re duly mistaken. If you want a public fight, do understand that I will win it and I will start by pointing out her questionable choice of Orator. Have the Prophet print out every sleazy client you’ve represented before Hermione. A slight hint here and there, and everyone will be wondering whose side ... _Mrs Riddle_ is truly on if she has you for an Orator.’  
  
Jensen snorted. ‘Please do use my … “questionable” reputation. It’s on record Ms Granger used to use holier than thou Orator Wolsby-Anderson for all her legal matters. A slight hint here and there, and everyone will wonder _who_ really hired me and why this Ministry is attacking Ms … Granger instead of protecting her from me and my true client. All you’ll succeed in doing is establish how big a victim my client is. Ka-ching.’  
  
‘Let’s all calm down,’ Rooney intervened. ‘There is no need to question each other’s reputations. We’re all professionals here, and again, I have to state that none of what you said, Orator Jensen, has any legal standing when it ends up in front of the Wizengamot.’  
  
Jensen stretched out his legs and folded his hands on his belly. ‘First of all, I have already made several legal arguments that will hold up in front of the Wizengamot in favour of my client. Furthermore, it’s a common misconception of bad Orators that the law lives in a vacuum—that everyone has to obey by the rules in print and that’s just the way it is. The Wizengamot consists of people who interact with others in their daily lives and who are dependent on the support of others to maintain their seat on said Wizengamot. Whether or not you like it, the court of public opinion weighs into the decisions they make. No matter what McGregor thinks, I have a client who’s stuck between the most feared, crazy, dangerous, serial-killing dark wizard of all time and a large government organisation which failed to protect her. Public support will be on my client’s side, not yours.  
  
‘This will ensure that all I have to do is supply the Wizengamot with one legal reason— _one!_ —so they have an excuse to give a ruling in my client’s favour. I’ve got enough gross negligence on your end—backed by solid, factual paperwork to prove it—to give them that. I will win this case. Have no doubt about it. What you need to ask yourselves is how you want to lose. It can be a messy fight, which will inevitably lead to the fall of this Ministry, including the Minister for Magic and several, if not all, of its current department heads, or it can be dealt with quietly to the benefit of all those concerned. You’ve until noon tomorrow to reinstate my client as an active Unspeakable under the same contractual conditions and benefits as she had before, allow her free rein to visit her husband as she pleases and ensure you maintain her personal privacy with regards to her marital status.’  
  
He rose from his seat, gesturing to his client to get up, too, which she thankfully did. ‘I’ll suggest you discuss this most generous offer with Minister Shacklebolt and the Head of the Auror Department, Harry Potter. I’m certain they’ll agree with me that Ms Granger is not the one to blame for any of this. Think about it carefully and be aware that this is my final offer. If I’ve not heard back from you before noon tomorrow, my next stop will be the Wizengamot’s administrative office. A pleasure,’ he nodded politely to the three at the table and placed his hand on Hermione’s back, leading her out.  
  
They remained quiet throughout their entire walk in the Ministry’s corridors. However, once the lift was set in motion, he turned to the witch standing next to him.  
  
‘You set me up,’ he accused.  
  
A small smile curved her mouth as she faced him. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said unapologetically.  
  
‘You had no plans to resign.’  
  
‘True,’ she acknowledged, nodding. ‘But I’ve always been curious if my job was of any importance to him and just how much so if that were the case. I just had no idea how to bring a lie this big convincingly myself. I tried to get a few small fibs past him, but he spotted all of them. So, I duly thank you for your assistance. It’s much appreciated, especially since I never gave you permission to discuss it with Tom. Such a blatant breach of client-Orator confidentiality …’ She shook her head whilst clicking with her tongue. ‘I believe it’s ground for disbarment, is it not?’ She turned away with a satisfied smile on her face.  
  
 _She’s enjoying this_ , he thought, shocked. _Merlin save me._  
  
They were both playing with fire, the Dark Lord and this Muggle-born witch, and he somehow got stuck in the middle of what would be a blazing inferno. They’d fry him to a crisp. He now fully understood what the Dark Lord saw in this witch, why he’d married this one despite her blood status. The Dark Lord had always had a penchant for things that could get you burned and Hermione Granger was a backdraft explosion waiting to happen. Jensen wanted to be far, far away from the both of them when that occurred.  
  
‘So Tom has “serious mental health issues”, ’ Hermione quoted in amusement. ‘You must have been in Gryffindor to have the nerve to say that out loud.’  
  
‘As an Orator I sometimes have to twist things around to fit the views of the opposite side in order to win,’ Jensen said smoothly.  
  
‘Ah, slippery,’ Hermione said, ‘I stand corrected: Slytherin then.’  
  
‘Actually, I was in Hufflepuff, but that’s beside the point; I voice the things that will lead to victory, not my opinions.’  
  
‘And you believe that what you did here tonight will be enough to get that victory without it turning into a complete spectacle?’  
  
‘Would that be a problem for you?’ Jensen inquired, taking in his client meticulously.  
  
‘I already said when I hired you that you could do whatever it takes, so that’s a “no”. However, I can’t say I’m looking forward to the kind of media attention and personal hoo-hah it will bring me,’ Hermione replied seriously. ‘So, do you think they will take your offer?’  
  
‘I’d be extremely surprised if they didn’t,’ Jensen answered, relieved he had free rein if need be. ‘Their own careers are on the line, too. McGregor might be willing to take the chance, but I know Rooney; she always travels in the middle of the road, never diverting from the safest course ahead. It makes her a responsible administrator, but not the best of Orators. Hence, why she chose another career path after graduation. Also, I happen to know that she can’t afford to lose her job—not with her family’s current financial position. No, I’m pretty sure we’ve got this in the bag.’  
  
‘That’s nice.’  
  
‘Yes,’ Jensen said, pausing for a moment before continuing warningly, ‘Of course, you’ve got to realise that getting your job back doesn’t mean they can’t make your life miserable once they’ve reinstated you in said job.’  
  
‘I’m aware of that, but I’m not too worried about it. I’ve handled worse situations than whatever they can throw at me.’  
  
‘I’m sure.’  
  
The lift came to an abrupt halt. Before the doors opened, Hermione held out her hand to him. ‘Thank you, Orator Jensen.’  
  
‘Don’t thank me yet.’  
  
‘Okay, I won’t,’ Hermione said, smiling. ‘Instead, I’ll wish you the best of luck on your trip to Azkaban. Say “hi” to my husband from me.’ With that, she winked at him and walked out the lift, leaving him standing utterly pale.  
  
Merlin, be Muggled.  
  
Even though Jensen knew it had to be done, the last thing he wanted to do tonight was inform the Dark Lord that he had made him reveal a significant part of his deck. Jensen would rather pull the teeth of a Norwegian Ridgeback; that would be far less hazardous to his health for sure.  
  


xxx

  
  
  
  
  



	16. Trust Issues

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to my betas: Serpent In Red and Cosettex. 
> 
> I thank everyone who read, rated, alerted, faved, and reviewed. My apologies for the long wait. I hope you'll enjoy the chapter.

 

** The Prisoner **

 

** Chapter 16: Trust Issues **

 

Uncharacteristically quiet, the two individuals stood just out of each other’s reach, their eyes locked. Hermione’s heart pounded in her chest. Fully aware that Tom knew of her deception and not knowing what to say, she’d hung her coat on the hanger as she’d entered his cell, waiting for him to open his mouth so she could react to whatever nonsense he’d sprout out this time. She had nearly squeaked when she’d turned around and he was right there in front of her. Not having heard him move towards her at all, she mentally cursed his stealthy abilities, which she knew didn’t help, but it felt good to do nevertheless.

 

And now, they just stood there.

 

It was not what she’d expected. He always had something to say about everything—sometimes she’d felt like rolling her eyes, pulling her hair out and screaming in frustration whenever he postulated his stupid opinions. But this silence was also grating on her nerves; it was actually even more irritating than listening to his usual blabbering. Hermione didn’t want to be the one to start talking today. Whoever started lost. If he dared to complain or make accusations about her alleged treachery, she’d fillet him with all the arguments she’d previously constructed. This time, Hermione had chosen to be on the offensive.

 

Her eyes flickered over his face. Though his expression was as blank as it could be, there was a searing heat in his dark eyes that made her swallow reflexively. Why she suddenly had the urge to close the gap between them, press her body against his, forget about their differences and snog him senseless was beyond her. Tensing her whole body to avoid doing so, and thus losing, she closed her hands into fists and dug her nails into the palms of her hands to clear her head. 

 

She wasn’t moving.

 

By Godric, this was hard. Why wasn’t he acting? Was she the only one having problems? If so, she’d lost before they’d even started talking. Concerned, Hermione took in his stance, his posture. He seemed relaxed—seemed being the key word. Triumph flowed through her when she realised she wasn’t the only one having problems in restraining themselves. Her mouth curved without her conscious will and her eyes sparked as she raised her face to meet his eyes again. She knew it wasn’t rational, couldn’t back it up with logical arguments, but she had already won this one. He was always so in control of himself, far more than her, but not now. She could sense it in the air, feel it. She’d won it before entering. She’d beaten Lord Voldemort.

 

Again.

 

It was a heady feeling; it relaxed her muscles and made her want to do a little victory dance.

Until she saw that obnoxious smirk make an award-winning entrance.

 

‘ What!?’ she said, alarmed.  _ What did I miss? _

 

‘You are very entertaining, wife,’ Tom replied, closing the gap between them. His fingers stroked her cheek before disappearing into her hair, cupping the back of her head and leaning in for a kiss. ‘Much more entertaining than any of those dolts I’ve dealt with before.’

 

‘ Excuse me,’ she snapped, putting both hands on his chest and pushing him away forcefully right before his lips touched hers. 

 

He staggered backwards, just keeping his balance. 

  
  


‘You didn’t just say that. You—you—I—’ Arching backwards with her hands resting on her lower back, Hermione took a very deep breath to calm herself. When she finally exhaled and witnessed his slightly tilted head, that knowing smile combined with that spark in his dark eyes, and his overall demeanour, her attempt to calm herself went out the window and she pounded onwards. ‘How dare you! How dare you compare me to those morons you surrounded yourself with.’ She pricked him in his chest with her index finger furiously. ‘I’m not some idiotic, mindless puppet you can use and toss away afterwards. Did you really think I didn’t suspect a thing, that I wasn’t aware my Unspeakable status somehow suits your needs, that you could just manipulate me into doing whatever suits your plans? How foolish do you think I am?’ She planted her hands on her sides and tilted her head, her eyes sparkling with fury and her lips shut tight. ‘Well,’ she snarled after a while when there was no reply, ‘aren’t you going to “enlighten” me?’

 

‘I’m sorry.’

 

Hermione’s jaw dropped, and she just stared at him.

 

‘I shouldn’t have said that,’ Tom said smoothly. ‘I never—’

 

‘Oh please, spare me your bull. We both know you’ve got something planned. You always do. So spill.’

 

He raised his eyebrows.

 

‘Yes,’ Hermione said before he could open his mouth, ‘I want to know and I want to know it now. Why do you need me to remain in my job?’ She held up her hand when he clearly wanted to speak. ‘Think very carefully about what you say next, Voldemort. Despite that he tried to hide it, I saw Jensen’s limp when he came to tell me that Rooney had fully reinstated me to my position. I’m pretty sure she didn’t give him that limp, so he had to have got that while visiting you. What did you do? Stab him with a pen when he told you that I’d never planned to resign?’

 

‘Yes,’ Tom said bluntly. ‘Right in his upper thigh. Very satisfying, I say. You should try it. Great stress reliever.’

 

Hermione growled, looking around the cell fast and spotting the necessary item. ‘Maybe I will? As in right now.’ She paced towards the table, only to be stopped by the hand on her upper arm. Her eyes flickered between his hand and his face, nonverbally warning him to let go, but he didn’t.

 

‘What do you want me to say? That I’m sorry I stabbed him? I’m not. He should’ve known you were playing him.’

 

‘You, in all your amazing intelligence, didn’t realise it. So why should he?’ Hermione jerked her arm, but Riddle’s grip was airtight. ‘Let go of me.’

 

‘Not if you’re going for that pen,’ he replied dryly. ‘I’ve got a pretty good idea where you plan to stick it.’ He used his free hand to cover his crotch. ‘It’s not a big target but recalling your excellent aim: Ouch.’

 

Flabbergasted, Hermione looked at him, her mouth slightly ajar. Did he just make a joke? At his own expense!? Her lip quivered. She wasn’t going to laugh. No, this wasn’t funny.

 

‘Besides, you need to think it over, darling; that’s not a part of my anatomy you want to lose,’ he added, winking suggestively.

 

Hermione snorted, dropping her head in her hand. Her shoulders shook from her attempts at restraining her laughter, and she felt him pull her into his embrace. 

  
  


‘You’re impossible,’ she muttered, resting her head against his chest.

 

‘So you keep saying,’ he replied gently. ‘Yet, between the both of us, I daresay my objectives are far clearer than yours, Hermione.’

 

‘If they’re so clear, why won’t you just say what they are? Why all the big secrets?’

 

‘Because I was under the impression you weren’t ready to accept it.’ 

  
  


Hermione lifted her chin, glaring at him. 

  
  


‘ Now, don’t give me that look. You know I’m right. You wanted to come here, live out your little fantasies and then return to “reality” as if nothing happened, as if  _ I _ don’t matter.’

  
  


She bit her lip, looking down guiltily. 

  
  


‘You accuse me of exactly that what you’re doing yourself, and I tire of it, Hermione.’

 

‘I—’

 

He silenced her with his finger on her mouth. ‘You think you don’t matter to me when I’ve shown you time and time again that you do matter. I married you. I’ve taught you things I’ve never shown another. I’ve been patient and lenient with you. I’ve allowed you your little escapism because I know this situation is hard for you, but there is an end to my patience, Hermione. And your constant accusations are petty and childish.’

 

‘Petty and childish?’ Hermione huffed. ‘Don’t stand there as if you’re innocent in all this. I know you, Tom Riddle. I know how you manipulate people into doing what you want them to do. You love playing these type of games. All these things you just mentioned, all these things you’ve done “for me”, we both know there is an angle. There is a reason you picked me instead of Moore, a reason why you sent me to Moirae, a reason why you’re so desperate for me to keep that job―you think you can get me to help you somehow. Well, I won’t. If you think it’ll help you get out of here, think again. I won’t help you escape. Ever. So why don’t you just say it? Let’s get these silly games behind us once and for all and put our cards on the table. You say you tire of it. Well, so do I. Just tell me the truth.’

 

‘And which truth would you like to hear, Hermione?’ he retorted softly. ‘The one you can feel comfortable with, the one that establishes your moral superiority, or the one you try so desperately to hide from yourself?’

 

He’d not said it spitefully, hatefully or in an attacking manner. If only he had, that would’ve made it so much easier to respond, to put aside those words that sliced through her very being with the precision of a surgeon’s scalpel, and attack him similarly. However, he’d been gentle, almost careful, and the scrutinising way he now regarded her made her swallow as she felt more exposed than ever before. 

  
  


Hermione looked away, avoiding eye contact. She suddenly didn’t want to hear what he had to say about her; she didn’t want to hear the opinion of someone with such impeccable observational skills and have all her flaws laid out before her. She bloody well knew she wasn’t perfect, and she’d always felt constrained by that saint-like picture some had constructed about her after the war. They’d put her so high upon a pedestal that all she could do in the end was plummet to her death. She could never measure up to expectations of perfection—no matter how hard she tried. Something she always had. As a Muggle-born witch, she had always felt that she had to be the best and couldn’t afford to err. Everything she’d ever done and did in the wizarding world had to be perfect to show them she was worthy of being there, to show them she was as much of a witch as, if not more than, those born into it. 

  
  


She’d had so many vivid nightmares of failing and being laughed at, nightmares that hadn’t disappeared over the years but had grown worse and worse with every accomplishment she achieved. Every time she succeeded and was applauded for it, there was this little, vicious voice in her mind saying how much those people would enjoy it if she failed next time, how much they were looking forward to that moment, that moment when she’d prove once and for all that she was faulty. That she was human.

 

She recalled the lengthy article in the Daily Prophet about how she’d withstood Bellatrix Lestrange’s Cruciatus Curse and had lied to her. They’d made her out to be the stuff of legends. The girl who’d done what others had failed at. In Hermione’s mind, it had been a complete lie, the article a myth. She’d not withstood that curse. She’d screamed; she’d clawed at herself and the floor; she’d thrashed and writhed; she’d wanted the pain to stop at whatever cost. Yet, she knew the truth wouldn’t stop Lestrange. So, yes, she’d lied, but not out of some kind of heroism, but because she’d had no other choice. Hermione had seen it in the woman’s eyes. Lestrange was crazy and had been completely beyond herself. Hermione knew she was mad enough to continue cursing her if she’d heard the truth. The haunting visual of the state Neville’s parents were in was etched into her mind forever. Lying had been the only way to keep her sanity intact. That curse had been one of the most horrific experiences ever, and that article had made it out to seem as if it had been a breeze in the park for her, as if everything she’d done while under it had been a deliberate choice by her, as if she was that strong …

 

Hermione shivered, feeling Tom’s arms tighten around her.  

 

‘I’m not perfect,’ she whispered, her eyes watering.

 

‘You don’t have to be.’ 

  
  


That affirmation made her fingers dig into his shirt, clutching to him for all she was worth. She couldn’t describe the relief his words made her feel.

 

‘I’m perfect enough for the both of us.’

 

Practically choking on her own saliva, Hermione coughed several times before her laughter broke through to the surface. She looked up; his handsome face had one arched eyebrow as if daring her to contradict his statement while the rest of his expression was filled with smug amusement.

 

‘Oh you,’ she said, slapping his chest, ‘what am I going to do with you?’

 

Immediately, a dark mischievousness came over him. 

  
  


Hermione’s eyes widened and she took a step back. ‘Er … I—I—’ she stuttered, suddenly at a loss for words.

 

‘ I think the correct sentence would be: “What am  _ I _ going to do with  _ you _ ?”,’ he taunted, taking a step towards her.

 

Hermione quickly remedied that situation by taking another step back. ‘I …’ she growled in annoyance over her telling lack of vocabulary.

 

‘ _ I _ ,’ Tom emphasised, ‘am going to get some items from your coat now.’

 

Hermione blushed, but when he seemed to put his money where his mouth was and moved towards her coat, alarm took over. He’d see she’d left things out and … oh Merlin! She rushed over there and blocked him with her body. 

  
  


‘We have an agreement,’ she said firmly.

 

‘Yes, and your failure to show up yesterday broke it.’

 

‘That wasn’t my fault!’

 

He shrugged. ‘I never said it was. By the way, since you fixed it so adequately and expediently, I’ll go easy on you. Now move, or I may change my mind about the latter.’ He smirked at her deviously.

 

‘I didn’t bring everything you had me buy.’

 

Tom frowned. ‘Why not?’

 

‘It’s …’ She gestured at him with her hand. ‘... your wounds …’

 

‘Ah,’ he replied knowingly. ‘You’re scared.’

 

The malicious joy that briefly flashed over his face didn’t do much to reassure her. 

  
  


‘Yes,’ she said, crossing her arms in front of her chest. ‘I did my research on BDSM after that, and I really don’t think I’ll enjoy the kind of things you have in mind.’

 

‘Oh? And what kind of things would that be?’

 

‘The kind that hurt, that do significant damage. I saw the pictures.’ She shivered. ‘I—I can’t do that. I won’t participate in that.’

 

‘You saw the pictures.’ Tom pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. ‘Do you think I’d permanently damage you?’

 

Hermione just looked at him. Did he really need an answer to that? He was Lord Voldemort, for crying out loud!

 

‘Hermione?’

 

Apparently, he did. ‘Even if it’s not permanent, I’m not into  _ that _ kind of thing.’

 

Suddenly, he stepped forwards, grabbed her wrist, turned around and walked towards the bed, dragging her with him.

 

‘Wha-what are you doing?’

 

‘Clearly, we need to discuss this,’ he said over his shoulder, ‘and I don’t think you’re comfortable talking about it when I’m inches away from equipment you think you don’t want me to use on you.’

 

‘I don’t just think it,’ she objected, pissed.

 

‘Sit,’ he ordered, letting go of her wrist and pointing to the bed.

 

Hermione sat down, seething. ‘I know what I want and don’t want. There is no need to use that condescending comment of “you think”.’

 

He sat down in front of her on the table. ‘I wasn’t being condescending. I was considering how little your experience is with BDSM and thus I don’t believe you can make an informed deci—’

 

‘Condescending again,’ Hermione snapped. 

 

‘If you’re basing your information on the pathetic, uninformed literature that is out there and the over the top, unrealistic pornographic pictures, then yes, I’ve got every right to be condescending,’ Tom snarled. ‘Now, I’m trying to have an adult conversation here. Do you think you can handle that without snapping at every word I say?’

 

Hermione growled, leaning forward in order to rise. His hand was on her shoulder in a flash. 

  
  


‘Sit down, Hermione,’ he said, squeezing her shoulder lightly. ‘We need to talk about this. You know that.’

 

For a moment, she just stood there in a half-squatted pose, her eyes on him, considering her options. She knew he was right; this was something they had to address. She’d even intended to do so back home. It was just … harder than she envisioned beforehand. It was easier to simply argue and avoid the subject. Merlin, how childish of her indeed. Abruptly, she plunked back on the bed, folding her hands in her lap and looking up at him. 

  
  


‘Sorry.’

 

‘Why, thank you for that heartfelt apology. Now—’

 

‘Wait a second!’ she interrupted, her eyes wide in sudden realisation. ‘You changed the subject.’

 

‘Excuse me?’

 

‘Oh, great, the innocent expression again. Really? Really!’ Hermione flew to her feet, tossing her hands in the air before putting them at her sides as she looked down. ‘You never answered my question about what your plans are.’

 

Annoyance flashed over Tom’s face. Hermione felt proud of herself for spotting that and for spotting the change in subject before she’d left and would’ve wanted to bang her head against the wall in retrospect for missing it. 

  
  


He scratched the back of his head before slowly rising to his feet and once again towering over her, but she wasn’t afraid. She felt giddy and watched his every move expectantly. His face had turned blank again. Yet, something had changed. Something had shifted in her favour. She couldn’t pinpoint it, but she felt it.

 

‘You know what my plans are, Hermione,’ Tom said softly, his hand reaching out and disappearing into her hair.

 

She just waited, silently, expectantly, while he seemed engrossed into playing with her hair. It sent delicious tingles down her spine, but she ignored that, focusing on his face and the answer she had demanded.

 

‘Any dunce would be able to figure it out. Do you really need me to spell it out to you?’

 

She narrowed her eyes at him. Did he just call her stupid?

 

‘Fine. I plan to escape this insipid prison, disappear for a couple of years, and return to take over this planet with you at my side. Is that clear enough, honest enough, Gryffindoresque enough, for you?’

 

‘It’s delusional enough.’

 

‘Delusional?’

 

‘Do you honestly expect me to help you?’

 

‘Why shouldn’t I?’

 

‘Oh Godric,’ she huffed, shaking her head. ‘How many times do I have to say it? I. Am. Not. Helping. You.’

 

He shrugged. ‘Clearly we’re at a disagreement there.’

 

‘ Oh, are we? You know what? Do you want proof? Here’s your proof: seven, three, four, eight, nine, five .  Did you think I wouldn’t recall those? How would your plans go without having your funds available when I inform the Ministry which vault to confiscate?’

 

‘I wouldn’t advise that.’

 

‘Threatening me now?’

 

‘No, you did the threatening. I merely gave you the advice not to go there.’

 

‘Really, what’s stopping me? Your delusional assessment of my cooperation?’

 

‘No, our marriage. My assets are your assets now, darling, as are yours mine. If the Ministry wants to seize my property, they’ll have to seize it all. Everything I own,’ he said, winking at her. 

 

‘I’m not some fucking asset,’ Hermione snarled, upset that option had just become a lot less tempting.

 

‘No, you’re a lot more than that.’ 

  
  


‘I could just donate everything to charity that’s there,’ she replied, ignoring his statement.

  
  


He snorted. He actually snorted as if it didn’t matter to him what she did with the contents of his vault. That was even more disturbing. If he didn’t care, she had zero leverage. 

  
  


‘Well, before you plan to play the great philanthropist, I’d strongly recommend you check out the contents of said vault first. You might be surprised to find what’s there.’

  
  


‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ 

  
  


Tom shrugged. ‘Why don’t you go to Gringotts and find out? I’d be sincerely surprised if you’d wish or dare to part with it.’ 

  
  


More cryptic statements, clearly she wasn’t going to get a straight answer on this subject. Instead, there was the blatant manipulation by making her curious about said contents now. She’d assumed it was only money. Damn. She couldn’t just give away everything unseen if there was the option the contents were potentially dangerous, lethal even. She had no choice but to go there if she wanted anything to be done with it. Blasted Riddle, he was too infuriating to be around. 

  
  


‘Why am I even here?’

 

‘Sorry?’

 

‘Why did you ask for me? What the hell do you want with me, Riddle?’

 

‘This is getting repetitive.’

 

‘That’s because you never answer the bloody question.’

 

‘You want an answer?’

 

‘Yes.’

 

‘Fine. I asked for you because you intrigued me.’

 

‘Intrigued you.’

 

‘Yes, intrigued me. I had already seen the side of you that you prefer to hide from the world when you implemented that pathetically convoluted plan to kill me.’

 

‘Convoluted plan!? Now, wait just a moment, you don’t get to call out others on having convoluted plans, Riddle. “I have to be the one to kill Harry Potter”,’ she mimicked mockingly.

 

He hissed through his teeth, looking sideways for a moment before facing her again. ‘If you really wanted to kill me back then, Hermione, trying to drown me in the sewers was quite the complicated method to achieve it. Far too many chances of it going wrong, which surprise, surprise, it did.’

 

‘Well, I felt it was suiting.’

 

‘And I thought it was much more a dare of you, an invitation from someone desperate to be dominated by someone powerful enough to achieve it,’ he replied sweetly.

 

‘Delusional again.’ She tilted her head. ‘Or your tiny, little ego talking. Probably both,’ she decided.

 

‘ Considering the current circumstances we are in,  _ wife _ —’  He fingered her collar. ‘—I think you’re the one being delusional here.’

 

Hermione laughed. ‘Do you honestly expect me to believe you wanted me because of that?’ she asked, snorting. ‘You must think me extremely gullible.’

 

‘I never said I was finished. You demand to hear the truth, yet you continue to keep on interrupting me. Perhaps you should let me finish.’

 

‘Oh my, letting you finish talking, I’ll die of old age befo—’

 

‘Granger,’ he warned.

 

‘Okay, fine,’ she zipped her lips demonstratively with her fingers.

  
  


‘Now I merely found your behaviour amusing back then, unaware of everything you did until Healer Cutler and company kindly provided me with all the information I needed. He was quite the fan, kept going on and on and on about all your achievements and actions. Such a valuable source of information—’

 

‘—until you killed him.’

 

‘Until the wards affected him to the extent he wanted nothing more than to die,’ Riddle laughed. ‘It was quite entertaining watching their descent into madness, how sick they felt. In the end, all it took were a few choice words here and there to make them see the solution to their continued problems.’

 

‘That’s just sick,’ she replied, disgusted.

 

‘No, that’s power,’ he said feverishly, ‘and they couldn’t handle it, weren’t smart enough to realise the real reason behind their illnesses, weren’t smart enough to see through my manipulations. It made me wonder, Hermione, wonder about you. How much of those stories were true? Would you live up to them? And if so, how would you react to those wards? Such power,’ he sighed, stroking her cheek, ‘and such intelligence. They hardly did you justice. I knew I had to make you mine.’

 

Hermione swallowed.

 

‘And when you kept those bruises …’ he trailed off, his gaze unfocused. ‘Bella used to—’

 

‘Please don’t compare me to that insane bitch,’ Hermione snapped.

 

Disturbed, he looked down at her. ‘She—’

 

‘I don’t want to hear it.’

 

‘I don’t recall snapping at you when you mentioned your dunce ex.’

 

‘My ex didn’t torture you for hours.’

 

‘No, he just killed a piece of my soul.’

 

‘As if your soul was something you valued.’

 

‘My immortality was.’

 

That statement produced a dreadful silence, one that felt as if it lingered for hours on end. Hermione’s mouth went open and shut, lost for words to counter this.

  
  


Tom finally broke their impasse by saying, ‘Besides, you should thank her.’

 

‘Thank her!?’ Hermione said, angry. ‘Thank her for Cruciating me!?’

 

‘If she hadn’t, if she instead had called me at once as she should’ve, you’d be dead now. I would’ve killed you and everyone else there on sight. Make no mistake about that, Hermione. You owe her your life.’

 

‘Dobby saved my life, not her. And she killed him. I don’t owe that insane bitch one single thing.’

 

‘Insane? She spent years in a Dementor-filled Azkaban. What’s Weaselbee’s excuse?’

 

‘Don’t talk about Ron that way; he may not have been right for me, but I hurt him and he doesn’t deserve this crap. There is nothing wrong with him.’

 

‘You don’t know anything about Bellatrix Black’s life, Hermione,’ Tom said sharply. ‘Don’t presume to think you can stand there making judgements about other people with that allegedly moral high ground you fancy yourself and the Order walking on.’

 

‘Well, clearly, I’ve fallen off that high ground when I married you.’

 

‘Yes. So why did you?’

 

‘What?’

 

‘I told you the truth. I told you why I wanted you. Now it’s your turn.’

 

Hermione shook her head, her face expressing her disbelief more than words. ‘None of what you said was any reason to marry me.’

 

‘It wasn’t?’ he asked, raising his eyebrows. ‘I daresay it was. I wanted you.’

 

‘That didn’t require marriage.’

 

‘I. Don’t. Share … ever. I told you that when you asked me to make you mine, when you begged me to fuck you. Or did you conveniently erase that from your mind as well?’

 

She gritted her teeth, annoyed at the blush that was spreading across her cheeks. ‘You shared Bella,’ she replied in a viciously sweet tone of voice.

 

‘ Oh, so now we  _ are _ allowed to talk about her?’

 

Aggravated, Hermione growled and tossed her hands in the air. ‘You know damn well why I’m mentioning her. Don’t come to me with that crap about marrying me because you wanted me.’

 

_ Crap? _ Tom mouthed as if he had no idea what she was referring to, infuriating her even more so.

 

‘Don’t even try it,’ she hissed, pricking into his chest. ‘If I so much as hear you attempt to use the word “love” on me, I will—’ she shut up abruptly, staring at the laughing Riddle.

 

‘Love,’ he snorted, ‘you are so adorable.’ Then he started laughing at her again.

 

Yes, at her. It was infuriating. Hermione placed her hands in her sides. ‘You were gonna.’

 

‘Oh yes, I’m so unintelligible to try that,’ he sniggered.

 

‘Well, some bull remotely associated to it.’

 

‘ Granger, I don’t think you’re  _ that _ gullible.’

 

‘So I am gullible.’

 

Amused, he shook his head. ‘Do you really want to twist all my words around, Hermione? It’s getting you nowhere.’

 

‘Because you’re not telling me the truth.’

 

‘But I have, dear. Maybe not all of it,’ he said before she could interrupt him, ‘but you knew that in advance. I’ve told you the important parts, the answers to what you really wanted to hear. I’d tell you everything if I were sure I could trust you completely. Can I trust you completely, Hermione? Can I lay my life in your hands and know you’ll do the right thing?’

 

She stared at him, feeling her heart sink. She wanted to lie, knew she should to hear it all, but she couldn’t get the words to leave her mouth.

 

‘That silence is answer enough, isn’t it, dear?’

 

Hermione looked down, closing her suddenly watering eyes. This stunk, everything about this situation stunk, and she’d created it, had let it happen. The road to hell really was paved with good intentions. Now she felt guilty towards Tom Marvolo Riddle of all people! She turned away, needing to clear her mind. What was it about him that always made it so hard? Why couldn’t she just stay focused on her target? Why did he have such an impact on her? 

  
  


‘It’s all right, Hermione,’ he said softly, cupping her cheek and lifting her chin towards him. ‘I’m not expecting miracles. It’s only logical for you to have reservations.’

  
  


She smiled weakly in response, not knowing what to say since it was the truth. She had reservations, and they were logical to have. 

  
  


‘May I ask something of you though?’

  
  


‘Sure.’

  
  


‘You said you were concerned about some of Mistress Aphrodite's items.’

  
  


‘Well, several. Actually, quite a lot,’ she interrupted, making an apologetic expression.

  
  


‘Okay, quite a lot,’ he corrected. ‘Have I done anything to you in here that you didn’t want me to, Hermione?’

  
  


‘No,’ she rapidly said, upon seeing concern flash through his eyes. ‘No, I just ...’

  
  


‘Yes?’

  
  


‘I don’t know. I’m scared, I suppose.’

  
  


‘Scared of what exactly?’

  
  


‘To get hurt.’

  
  


‘Are you worried I will cross over your boundaries? Because I am aware you’re a novice at this.’

  
  


She just stared at him, not knowing what to say. Well, she knew, but … 

  
  


‘What is it?’

  
  


‘Well, yes, I’m worried you’ll go too far or lose your temper.’

  
  


‘I suppose I deserve the latter given what happened before,’ he murmured, looking down, almost seeming abashed. ‘I am sorry about that,’ he looked her straight into the eye as he said that.

  
  


Now she felt like crap. He hadn’t just lost his temper like that. She’d been beating the shit out of him. 

  
  


‘I’m sorry for losing my temper, too, and hitting you with that cane,’ she replied, scratching her neck uncomfortably. ‘I suppose I’m being unfair since … well, I don’t think I would’ve reacted calmly had someone attacked me like that either, but ...’

  
  


‘You can’t unsee what you saw then,’ he finished.

  
  


She nodded. 

  
  


‘I can’t promise you that I’ll never lose my temper ever again because that would be a blatant lie, since I can’t foresee what events the future will bring. However, I can say that in all my years of living I’ve never lost my temper during a session with a sub.’ He grabbed her hand, guiding her back to the bed to sit down, and she followed, sitting across from him as he sat on the table. ‘I do not wish you harm, Hermione. I enjoy watching you submit yourself to my wishes, following my lead because you wish to please me. It’s not about force, ever. It would be easy I suppose,’ he said, pondering as he stared into thin air. 

  
  


Suddenly, his hands lashed out, grabbing her wrists and yanking her to her knees. 

  
  


‘You think I want this from you?’ he asked, looking at her wide-eyed face. ‘I could force you, hurt you, make you do whatever I please, whether you like it or not, but it lacks finesse, wouldn’t you say? There is no challenge in it, no victory, no pleasure.’ Pulling her wrists onto his lap and grabbing them with one hand so he could bury the other in her wild curls, he yanked her head back and leaned in, his breath brushing her cheek. ‘Do you honestly think this is what I desire of you, my wife?’

  
  


Hermione sighed, shaking her head, noticing he allowed the movement. ‘You could do that to anyone.’

  
  


‘Exactly,’ he said, loosening his grip on her wrists to her sincere disappointment. She kept her hands there, hoping he’d tighten his hold again soon. ‘If I were to go completely against your wishes, hurt you severely, what would you do then?’

  
  


‘Find a way to kill you.’

  
  


‘Ah yes, I keep forgetting you’re the vengeful type,’ he sniggered. ‘Such an attractive quality.’

  
  


‘Glad you approve.’

  
  


‘Well, I’m not too keen about the part where it involves killing me, but it proves my point nevertheless.’ He stroked the inside of her wrist with his fingertips. ‘It would be entirely against my best interest to lose you, and I would lose you if I were to go too far. Right?’

  
  


She nodded.

  
  


‘So if you don’t trust me to keep your best interest in mind, can you trust me to keep my best interest at heart?’

  
  


‘Only you,’ Hermione said, her words stopped with her inability to refrain from giggling, ‘would word it like that.’

  
  


‘I’m trying to find a way to set your mind at ease. Have I, Hermione?’

  
  


‘I guess, yes. I definitely trust Lord Voldemort to keep his own best interest at heart,’ she dropped her head on his lap, giggling. 

  
  


‘So you’ll trust me as your Master?’

  
  


Hermione looked up, smiling. ‘I trust you. I can’t say it completely erases my fears about being bound and helpless while you use those whips, blades, paddles and such on me, but I do trust you.’

  
  


‘Hmmm… I like your idea of you bound and helpless, at my mercy. Perhaps we should do that right now?’ For a brief second, he tightened his grip on her wrists and hair again. His action, combined with the vivid visual darting in front of her mind’s eye, shot straight to her sex, making her press her legs together as a moan left her lips. 

  
  


‘I want your surrender, Hermione. I want you to beg me to do whatever I please with you. I want you to take pleasure from that. I wish to be your Master in every sense of the word, guiding you in crossing your personal boundaries, making you feel pain so you can receive pleasure beyond your wildest dreams and——’

  
  


She groaned loudly. 

  
  


‘What?’

  
  


‘Blah, blah, blah,’ she said, acting overly tiresomely. 

  
  


‘Oh, you wish to go straight to action?’

  
  


‘Again dying of old age here.’

  
  


‘I should gag that insolent mouth of yours, but given that you previously acknowledged your hesitance in several BDSM practices, and we haven’t discussed any of it yet—’ Here he gave her a pointed stare because she was the one reprimanding him for talking. ‘—and I’m not sure you’re experienced enough with the nonverbal signals, I believe I can be generous enough to allow you a safeword. So what will it be?’

  
  


‘Er...’ She drew a blank. 

  
  


‘I thought you said you’d done your research on BDSM,’ he taunted. ‘Would’ve thought such elaborate investigation would’ve come across “safewords” and their usage.’

  
  


‘I know what it is.’

  
  


‘Oh, I know one for you: spew.’ 

  
  


‘Har-har. And here I was thinking of going with immortality.’

  
  


‘Hmmm...’ he muttered, pulling her up and capturing her lips, ‘I love the way you think, wife, but it’s too long. We’ll go with spew.’

  
  


She spluttered slightly to show her dismay, but the truth was that spew had already lodged itself into her brain now, and he knew that. When push came to shove, that would be the word erupting from her mouth even if they decided on another. 

  
  


‘Fine, but I’ll remember this,’ she grunted. 

  
  


‘I’m scared already,’ Tom said, grinning. 

  
  


‘You’d better be.’

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


  
  
  


 


End file.
